\ 


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Section 


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V.l 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
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UNDER  THE 
SYRIAN  SUN 

VOL.  I 


A  FEW  PRESS  NOTICES  ON 
MR.  STANLEY  INCHBOLD  S  PICTURES 


Literary  World. — “We  do  not  remember  to  have 
seen  before  any  such  attempt  as  Mr.  Inchbold  makes  to 
represent  the  wonderful  variety  of  continually  changing 
colour  that  is  peculiar  to  the  Holy  Land.  Though  these 
water  colours  have  their  purely  artistic  value,  they  are 
specially  interesting  because  of  the  vivid  and  sympathetic 
way  in  which  they  represent  the  cities  and  landscape  of 
Palestine.” 

Morning  Post. — “  The  water-colour  drawings  of  Mr. 
Stanley  Inchbold  at  the  Fine  Art  Society  take  cognisance 
of  early  morning,  noon,  and  evening  so  satisfactorily  that 
it  follows  as  a  matter  of  course  their  colour  is  capably 
regulated,  while  the  wealth  of  detail  has  been  guided  by 
endeavour  to  be  accurate  and  at  the  same  time  to  prevent 
items  from  being  unduly  demonstrative.” 

Globe. — “  An  artist  with  more  than  ordinary  observa¬ 
tion.  He  has  succeeded  admirably  in  recording  the  pecu¬ 
liar  character  of  the  country.” 

World. — “  Mr.  Stanley  Inchbold  is  particularly  suc¬ 
cessful  in  rendering  the  clear  white  light  of  an  Oriental 
day,  and  his  sunsets  are  as  gorgeous  as  Eastern  sunsets 
should  be.” 

Gentlewoman — “  It  is  in  his  treatment  of  light  and 
shade  and  atmosphere  on  landscape  and  sea-scape,  com¬ 
bined  with  poetry  of  feeling  rendered  with  certainty  of 
touch  and  masterly  execution,  that  Mr.  Stanley  Inchbold’s 
strength  as  a  water-colour  artist  lies.” 


UNDER  THE  SYRIAN 

SUN 


THE  LEBANON,  'BAALBEK 
GALILEE ,  AND  JUDAEA 


By  A.  C.  INCHBOLD 

Author  of 

“Phantasma,”  “Princess  Feather,”  “The  Silver  Dove,”  etc. 


WITH  4O  FULL-PAGE  COLOURED  PLATES 
AND  8  BLACK-AND-WHITE  DRAWINGS 

BY 

STANLEY  INCHBOLD 


Vol.  I 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

LONDON:  HUTCHINSON  &  CO. 


1907 


PRINTED  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN 


' 

* 


CONTENTS 

VOL.  I 


CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

FROM  THE  SEA  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  LEBANON  .  .  I 

CHAPTER  II 

SOME  CHILDREN  OF  THE  LEBANON  l6 

CHAPTER  III 

THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  DRUSE  SHEIKH  .  .  -31 

CHAPTER  IV 

VISITS  OF  CEREMONY  AND  A  PERENNIAL  CUSTOM  .  .  47 

CHAPTER  V 

THE  SPRING  OF  REFRESHMENT . 59 

CHAPTER  VI 

A  SECRET  RELIGION . 67 

v 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER  VII 

PAGE 

BARUK  CEDARS . 85 

CHAPTER  VIII 

PILGRIMS  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  FUTURE  .  .  95 

CHAPTER  IX 

A  DRUSE  WEDDING . 108 

CHAPTER  X 

THE  CEDARS  OF  AINZAHALTA  AND  THE  PLAIN  OF  THE 

BEKAA . 122 

CHAPTER  XI 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  SUN . 137 

CHAPTER  XII 

BAALBEK . 154 

CHAPTER  XIII 

DAY  OF  RAISING  THE  KEYSTONE  OF  THE  GREAT  PORTAL 

OF  THE  TEMPLE  OF  JUPITER  ....  I74 

CHAPTER  XIV 

LEX  TALIONIS  AND  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WINDS  .  l86 


Contents 

CHAPTER  XV 

THE  ROOTS  OF  LEBANON  .... 

CHAPTER  XVI 

LORD  OF  THE  DANCING  FESTIVALS 

CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  BROW  OF  CARMEL  AND  ITS  MONASTERY 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

OLD  AND  MODERN  HAIFA  .... 

CHAPTER  XIX 


•  • 
VII 

PAGE 

.  199 


.  210 


.  221 


•  233 


FLOWERS  OF  THE  PLAINS  OF  GALILEE 


.  247 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

VOL.  I 


COLOURED  PLATES 


SYRIAN  SHEPHERD  BOY 


Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 


THE  VILLAGE  OF  AINZAHALTA . 

SUNSET  IN  THE  LEBANON  :  DJEBEL  BARLk 

GOATHERD  OF  THE  LEBANON  ...... 

CEDARS  OF  LEBANON  ....... 

SYRIAN  WOMAN  OF  THE  HAURAN  ..... 

DRUSE  WOMAN  OF  MOUNT  LEBANON  .... 

THE  MEDITERRANEAN  SEA  FROM  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF  LEBANON 
RELICS  OF  THE  GREAT  TEMPLE  OF  THE  SUN  . 

BAALBEK  FROM  ANTI-LEBANON  ..... 

GREAT  PORTAL  OF  THE  TEMPLE  OF  JUPITER  . 

RUINS  OF  THE  ACROPOLIS,  BAALBEK  .... 

SOUTH  PERISTYLE  OF  THE  TEMPLE  OF  JUPITER 

THE  TEMPLE  OF  VENUS,  BAALBEK  ..... 

THE  RAS-EL-METN  ........ 

A  ROCKY  HEIGHT  OF  MOUNT  LEBANON  .... 

SUNSET  OVER  THE  MEDITERRANEAN,  FROM  MOUNT  CARMEL 
THE  CITY  OF  TIBERIUS  ....... 

GALILEE  :  FLOWERS  NEAR  KARN  HATTIN 

WITHIN  THE  WALLS  OF  TIBERIUS  ..... 


6 

18 

62 

88 

100 

114 

126 

134 

144 

152 

162 

178 

180 

202 

214 

224 

248 

254 

260 


*  BLACK-AND-WHITE  PLATES 

DRUSE  TOMB,  MOUNT  LEBANON  ..... 

A  DRUSE  WITH  HIS  SILKWORM  COCOONS  .... 
THE  COLOSSAL  STONE  IN  THE  ANCIENT  QUARRY,  BAALBEK 
A  DRUSE  HOUSE,  MOUNT  LEBANON . 


42 

54 

140 

i90> 


Vlll 


UNDER  THE  SYRIAN 

SUN 


CHAPTER  I 


FROM  THE  SEA  TO  THE  MOUNTAINS  OF 

LEE  ANON 


The  sight  of  the  mountains  of  Lebanon  from  the 
sea  was  a  revelation.  The  sea  itself  was  the 
colour  of  lapis-lazuli,  the  sky  of  turquoise-blue.  Between 
sea  and  sky  the  mountains  rose  and  receded,  ridge  upon 
ridge  of  atmospheric  spectral  appearance  showing,  as 
through  a  transparency,  the  markings  of  forest  and 
chasm,  the  villages  and  towns  lying  snugly  on  the  slopes, 
or  remote  on  the  distant  peaks  of  the  various  hill-ranges. 
Their  beauty  of  form  remains  ever  mysterious  and 
wraith-like,  whether  veiled  by  the  sunlight  in  an 
atmosphere  of  delicate  shades  of  lavender  and  pallid 
greys,  or  transmuted  by  the  setting  sun  to  the  colouring 
of  amethyst  and  rosy  pink,  while  the  sea,  as  if  in 
worship  at  their  feet,  deepens  from  rose  to  the  ruby 
hue  of  wine. 


VOL.  i 


i 


2 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  wind  was  so  strong  off  Beyrout  that  an  hour 
slipped  away  in  making  attempt  to  anchor.  We  had 
to  steam  out  to  sea  again,  and  then  return  to  leeward 
under  the  quay,  instead  of  anchoring  as  usual  within 
the  harbour.  The  boats  that  swarmed  to  the  ship’s 
side  seemed  precariously  small  in  comparison  with  the 
Jaffa  boats,  scarcely  equal  to  the  double  task  of  conveying 
passengers  and  baggage  in  a  stiff  breeze  the  distance  of 
half  a  mile  to  the  landing-stage. 

The  customs  were  no  longer  a  sinecure — that  is  to 
say,  a  matter  of  discreet  backsheesh  administered  at  the 
psychological  moment.  One  of  the  perennial  telegrams 
from  headquarters  at  the  Sublime  Porte  had  been  received, 
giving  warning  of  the  attempted  smuggling  of  contra¬ 
band  arms  into  the  Lebanon.  Everything  belonging 
to  anybody  and  everybody,  with  no  respecting  of  persons, 
was  examined  with  the  maximum  of  fuss  and  noise. 
The  whole  place  was  like  a  bear-garden  in  conjunction 
with  the  shrill  chatter  of  the  monkey-house.  It  was 
only  by  exercise  of  our  most  skilful  diplomacy  that  we 
escaped  leaving  our  typewriter  in  the  grip  of  these 
energetic  netters  for  the  Turkish  revenue. 

At  last  we  drove  off  to  our  pension,  a  charming 
house  with  a  garden  in  which  we  dined  later  under 
the  trees.  The  breeze  of  the  afternoon  had  dwindled 
towards  sunset  into  a  languid  zephyr,  deliciously  cool 
after  the  blazing  heat,  and  laden  with  perfumes  of  the 
flowering  shrubs  and  trees.  Of  Beyrout  itself  upon  that 
visit  we  received  no  more  than  the  fleeting  impression 
of  a  drive  by  moonlight  through  the  shadowed  streets, 


The  Mountains  of  Lebanon 


3 


past  the  closed  bazaars,  the  open-air  cafes,  and  the  fine 
residential  houses  of  the  suburbs,  which  we  left  behind 
before  reaching  the  pines  on  the  Damascus  road,  a 
favourite  corso  in  Beyrout  for  riding  and  driving. 

July  had  begun.  The  town  was  deserted  by  all  who 
could  fly  from  the  vapoury  heat  of  the  plains  to  the 
hill  districts,  where  the  air  is  dry  though  often  intensely 
hot.  Accommodation  in  the  highlands  of  Lebanon  is 
improving  and  increasing  yearly. 

It  was  early  morning,  barely  six  o’clock,  when  we 
drove  out  to  the  first  station  on  the  Beyrout-to-Damascus 
railroad  in  order  to  avoid  the  worry  of  renewed  official 
research  in  our  baggage  at  the  terminus.  The  drive 
wound  through  the  suburbs  and  out  towards  the  foot¬ 
hills  of  Lebanon  in  gradual  ascent,  with  mulberry-groves, 
pines,  and  luxuriant  growth  of  fruit  trees  and  shrubs  of 
all  kinds  spreading  right  and  left  of  the  dusty  roads. 

The  train  journey  was  a  continual  climb,  the  railway 
mounting  by  rack  and  pinion  like  many  an  Alpine  one, 
three  or  four  miles  between  the  stations,  a  distance  that 
required  the  space  of  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour  to 
cover.  Over  and  around,  height  upon  height  we  climbed, 
passing  terraced  hill-slopes  of  vine  or  mulberry,  gazing 
into  the  remote  depths  of  a  mountain  gorge,  at  every 
turn  taken  by  surprise  with  glimpses  of  tiny  villages 
perched  on  apparently  inaccessible  hill-summits  or  pre¬ 
cipitous  cliff-side.  And  always  the  sea,  “  the  deeply, 
beautifully  blue  ”  sea,  and  the  glorious  plains  spread  out 
below  in  their  full  beauty  of  dazzling  light,  or  revealed 
in  magic  peeps  through  fissures  in  the  hillsides. 


4 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Half-way  to  Damascus  we  alighted  from  the  train 
at  the  station  of  Ain  Sofar,  almost  the  highest  point 
of  the  railway  at  an  elevation  of  some  4,000  feet  above 
sea-level.  Opposite  the  station  stood  a  large  hotel, 
originally  built  as  a  speculation,  with  the  laudable  object 
in  view  of  making  Ain  Sofar  the  Monte  Carlo  of  the 
Lebanon,  and,  in  fact,  of  the  whole  of  the  nearer  East. 
For  some  time  after  it  was  opened  every  effort  was 
made  to  render  the  summer  season  spent  there  a  fashionable 
casino  life  with  petits  chevaux ,  roulette,  and  cards. 
Though  the  play,  as  far  as  the  petits  chevaux  gambling 
was  concerned,  had  been  stopped  by  a  special  irade  of  the 
Turkish  Government,  the  hotel  was,  and  still  is,  a 
fashionable  resort  for  the  gay  and  wealthy  folk  of  Beyrout, 
Egyptians,  and  rich  Syrians  generally.  It  is  a  spot  where 
the  most  incongruous  contrasts  of  Parisian  or  Viennese 
fashions,  with  mountain  scenery  of  the  ruggedest  descrip¬ 
tion,  and  the  native  life  of  Lebanon  peasant  or  nomadic 
Bedawin,  are  continually  in  opposition.  So  marked  is  it 
at  times  as  to  present  a  spectacle  at  once  ridiculous  and 
lamentable. 

We  passed  the  modern  caravanserai  of  many  stories 
and  staring  windows,  its  chief  outward  attraction  the 
magnificent  prospect  of  mountain  scenery  and  plain  from 
the  terrace,  and  went  on  to  a  small  native  locanda,  for 
we  shunned  the  shadow  of  Western  Philistinism  on  the 
heights  of  these  beautiful  mountains.  Tea  was  our  first 
refreshment,  for  it  was  a  baking  day,  the  beginning  of 
a  burning  sirocco  that  endured  for  three  days.  Then  we 
rested,  with  an  interval  for  lunch,  until  three  o’clock, 


The  Mountains  of  Lebanon  5 

by  which  time  the  carriages  were  ready  for  our  drive 
to  a  highland  village  some  ten  miles  away. 

The  road  had  only  just  been  finished,  by  express 
order  of  the  governor  of  the  Lebanon,  in  time  for  the 
arrival  of  the  British  Consul-General,  who  was  going  to 
spend  the  summer  months  of  this  year  at  the  same 
Lebanon  village.  The  highway  was  still  very  much  in 
the  rough,  and,  in  part  of  the  drive,  entirely  blocked 
with  huge  stones  which  the  natives,  at  work  building  a 
parapet  to  safeguard  a  dangerous  bend  in  the  road,  had 
to  remove  before  the  carriage  with  its  team  of  three 
horses  abreast  was  able  to  proceed. 

The  glare  occasioned  by  the  sirocco  heat  was  excessive, 
for  the  rough,  rocky  environment  was  singularly  bare, 
and  destitute  of  shade,  with  very  few  trees  scattered 
scantily  on  the  mountain-sides.  About  two  hours  before 
reaching  our  highland  village  it  came  into  view,  perched 
on  a  hill  at  apparently  no  great  distance,  with  a  back¬ 
ground  of  other  hills  rising  high  above,  and  the  flat, 
quadrangular  roofs  mounting  like  terraces  near  and 
over  one  another,  presenting  the  effect  of  a  castellated 
height. 

Between  us,  however,  and  our  desired  haven  was 
fixed  the  great  gulf,  in  the  form  of  a  broad  and  ex¬ 
ceedingly  deep  ravine  through  which  purled  a  Lebanon 
stream,  spreading  the  green  fertility  in  its  wake  that 
was  lacking  to  the  grey  aridity  of  the  exposed  heights. 
The  precipitous  hillside,  climbing  up  to  our  right,  was 
covered  with  small  pines,  less  dense  and  more  straggling, 
but  similar  to  those  on  an  Italian  slope. 


6 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

It  is  these  hidden  beauties  of  the  Lebanon,  bursting 
suddenly  upon  one,  in  contrast  with  the  scanty  vegetation 
of  the  limestone  heights,  that  constitute  one  of  the  chief 
charms  to  the  traveller.  Even  to  the  mere  passer-by 
there  is  a  fascination  that  urges  nearer  investigation,  but 
leisure  and  opportunity,  mothered  by  the  spirit  of  soli¬ 
tude,  are  the  guides  which  best  conduct  to  close  know¬ 
ledge  of  the  wealth  and  beauty  constituting  the  full  glory 
of  Lebanon. 

The  road  proceeded  for  some  distance  on  the  brink 
of  this  beautiful  wadi,  but  then  descended  by  a  slow  and 
winding  gradient,  with  pines  and  undergrowth  on  either 
side,  to  its  depths,  passed  over  a  bridge  spanning  the 
river,  and  then  zigzagged  upwards  with  many  a  pre¬ 
cipitous  corner,  for  a  mile  or  more,  to  the  plateau 
crowned  with  the  nest  of  Druse  and  Maronite  houses. 
Mulberry-groves  on  terraces  and  in  small  plantations 
grew  everywhere  around  the  village,  and  between  the 
sun-bleached  roofs.  Here,  as  on  the  lower  slopes  of 
Lebanon,  were  whole  acres  laid  out  with  the  “  spreading 
vine  of  low  stature,”  terrace  upon  terrace  in  luxuriant 
fertility. 

The  locanda1  was  of  recent  completion,  reached  from 
the  high-road  on  foot,  by  a  path  so  rocky  as  to  be  difficult 
to  climb.  A  yard,  bare,  stony,  and  strictly  unadorned 
except  by  a  leafy  booth,  stretched  in  front  of  the  house, 
which  was  constructed  in  Syrian  fashion,  with  the  pillared 
entrance  above  a  flight  of  steps,  doors  to  the  left  and 
right,  and  a  second  entrance  into  the  lewan,  lined  by  the 

1  Small  hotel. 


The  Mountains  of  Lebanon 


7 


bedrooms  of  the  summer  visitors.  The  balcony  of  the 
lewan,  extending  along  the  glass  front,  overlooked  the 
village  and  the  amphitheatre  of  hills  surrounding  it. 

Exactly  opposite,  rising  from  the  further  side  of 
the  concealed  wadi  from  which  we  had  climbed,  rose  a 
hill  of  conical  shape  with  a  flattened  summit.  Clouds 
were  heaped  above  it,  grey  but  luminous  with  light, 
the  outer  edges  white  against  the  sky  ;  right  over  the 
hill  they  cast  an  all-embracing  shade,  while  the  hill- 
range  beyond  was  pale  yellow  and  delicate  in  the  sunlight. 
Over  the  bosomed  outline  of  a  more  distant  mountain 
chain  cloud-shadows  passed,  melting  into  fresh  forms  the 
lower  the  sun  dropped  towards  the  western  horizon. 
The  hill  of  shadow  looming  across  the  ravine  stood 
out  ominous  and  dark  against  the  sunlit  background. 
Pine-trees  were  darkly  outlined  on  the  summit  which, 
according  to  imparted  information,  had  been  levelled 
artificially  at  one  period.  It  was  a  hill  of  worship,  where 
secret  rites  of  unknown  nature  were  supposed  once  to 
have  been  held  regularly  by  the  Druses. 

This  village  of  Ainzahalta  was,  strictly  speaking, 
a  Druse  village,  though  there  was  also  a  community  of 
Maronites  who  had  a  church  of  their  own  on  the  spot. 
They  lived  peaceably  enough  together,  though  never 
intermarrying,  and  interchanged  many  ceremonious  com¬ 
plaisances  in  spite  of  their  religious  antagonism,  such  as 
assisting  in  the  jubilations  of  the  marriage  festival  or 
the  cries  of  lament  over  a  dead  body. 

The  smartest  of  the  Druse  men  wore  full  white 
pantaloons  of  the  usual  Oriental  kind,  an  embroidered 


8 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

vest,  and  a  coloured  or  plain  zouave  ;  over  the  whole, 
when  considered  essential,  a  black  abbai  or  haik.  Their 
forehead  and  head  were  bound  by  a  snow-white  fillet, 
placed  in  close  folds,  not  voluminous  like  the  Moslem 
turban.  Their  general  aspect  was  one  of  strict  cleanliness, 
and  superior,  independent  bearing.  The  workers  in  the 
fields  or  with  the  silkworm  industry  adopt  a  more 
negligee  costume,  as  can  be  observed  in  the  drawing  of 
one  who  is  seen  busily  engaged  in  his  work. 

The  feminine  dress  had  also  a  distinction  of  its  own 
in  the  full  dark  blue  shirt  drooping  to  the  ankles, 
and  the  close-fitting  but  open  bodice  which  discloses 
the  folded  chemisette  of  muslin  to  the  waist,  and  is 
there  drawn  in  to  fit  the  lines  of  the  figure  with  silver 
or  metal  clasps,  generally  of  massive  work.  On  the 
head  is  worn  no  longer  the  high  horn  formerly  associated 
with  the  Druse  national  costume,  but  simply  the  long 
white  veil  of  the  ordinary  Syrian  woman,  allowed  to 
float  freely  over  the  shoulders  to  the  knees  with  graceful 
effect,  unless  when  in  view  of  the  opposite  sex.  When 
taken  unawares  on  these  occasions,  the  face  is  swiftly 
veiled,  with  the  exception  of  one  mellow,  bewitching 
eye.  For  the  Druse  women  have  beauty  of  a  marked, 
even  distinguished  type. 

The  Maronite  man  will  don,  instead  of  the  snowy 
fillet,  a  coloured  scarf  tied  carelessly  round  his  head, 
and  sometimes  the  ordinary  keffiyeh.  His  pantaloons 
are  generally  blue,  and  his  coat,  striped  in  colour, 
hangs  loose  to  the  knee.  The  Maronite  women  do  not 
always  wear  the  white  veil,  and  being  Christians  their 


The  Mountains  of  Lebanon 


9 


faces  are  uncovered,  but  they  cover  their  hair  with  a 
coloured  mandeel,  sometimes  elaborately  worked,  or 
if  somewhat  superior  to  their  neighbours,  with  a  black 
lace  scarf.  These  details  are  not  only  applicable  to  the 
one  village  but  to  the  majority  of  hamlets  in  the  highlands 
and  lowlands  of  Lebanon. 

Even  in  this  remote  spot  one  of  the  British  Missions 
had  planted  a  station  of  work.  The  house  was 
within  a  stone’s  throw  of  the  locanda,  and  boasted  of  a 
pleasant  garden,  graced  by  the  refreshing  shadow  of 
two  magnificent  walnut-trees,  under  which,  by  the  kind 
courtesy  of  the  two  ladies  in  residence,  we  were  often 
allowed  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  few  cool  hours. 

The  villagers  were  awaiting  with  no  small  degree  of 
excitement  the  arrival  of  the  British  Consul-General, 
Mr.  Drummond  Hay  (now  Sir  Robert  Drummond  Hay), 
and  making  every  preparation  to  receive  him  and  his 
family  with  every  honour  they  could  demonstrate,  in 
accordance  with  national  custom.  The  house  to  which 
the  visitors  were  coming — divided  only  by  a  small 
mulberry  plantation  from  the  locanda — was  frequently 
invaded  on  the  eventful  day  of  arrival  by  natives  eager 
to  give  voluntary  help  in  the  preparations.  The  flight 
of  steps  conducting  to  the  entrance  if  swept  down  once 
that  morning  was  done  a  dozen  times  ;  the  railings  and 
the  portal  were  festooned  with  branches  of  the  poplar 
and  pine  trees  of  the  vicinity. 

Guns  were  let  off  at  any  moment,  and  at  any 
corner  of  the  village,  or  even  under  the  windows, 
keeping  every  one  in  continual  stir  and  start.  1  was 
VOL.  i  ‘  2 


IO 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 


sitting  with  a  fellow-guest  in  the  booth  at  the  end 
of  the  courtyard  overlooking  the  road  when  a  shot 
whizzed  through  the  fading  foliage  overhead.  Coming 
out  in  haste  we  saw  that  the  aggressors,  a  party  of 
villagers  who  had  taken  their  stand  in  the  yard  to  test 
their  weapons,  were  advancing  towards  the  booth  in  some 
trepidation. 

“  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Such  recklessness  is 
unpleasant,”  we  made  remonstrance  in  dumb  speech  that 
signified  its  own  amazement. 

One  of  the  men,  of  picturesque  and  martial  bearing, 
came  up  to  me  with  his  gun  in  his  hand,  and  pointed 
significantly  to  the  trigger. 

tc  Inghilterra  !  ”  he  said  in  a  pleading  voice.  “  Inghil- 
terra  !  ”  He  was  trying  hard  to  convey  to  us  the  idea 
that  they  were  doing  it  all  for  England’s  sake. 

And  this  was  true,  for  the  Druses  bear  a  particular 
goodwill  to  England  and  all  that  is  English.  Their 
reasons  for  cultivating  this  favourable  attitude  will 
explain  themselves  as  their  character  and  the  nature  of 
their  religious  belief  become  further  disclosed. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  a  single  gun  was  suddenly 
fired,  and  then  arose  promptly  the  slow  chanting  of 
men’s  voices  in  strains  that  appeared  to  ring  the  various 
modulations  of  three  notes  only.  Down  the  road  leading 
away  from  the  Consul’s  house,  where  they  had  been 
gradually  collecting,  marched  at  their  ease  a  body  of  men 
in  native  gala  costume,  all  singing,  with  guns  in  their 
hands,  and  shooting  at  random  into  the  air,  an 
accompanying  salute  to  their  songs  of  welcome. 


The  Mountains  of  Lebanon  1 1 

The  sky  was  tropical,  the  air  filled  to  stifling  with 
sirocco  fumes,  which,  circulating  in  slight  breezes,  set 
the  poplars  lining  the  road  in  motion,  sending  flickering 
sheen  from  their  slim  tree-tops  to  the  grey  of  their 
silvery  stems.  The  mountain-sides  radiated  a  great 
heat,  while  the  new-looking  tiled  roof  across  the  mulberry- 
grove  blazed  to  scarlet  in  the  glare  of  the  sunlight.  The 
predominant  colourings,  blue  and  red,  of  the  men’s 
costumes  stood  out  in  brilliant  relief  against  the  thick¬ 
leaved  battalions  of  the  dwarf  mulberry-trees  planted 

in  the  rich,  reddish  soil.  Through  the  trees  wended 

in  and  out  figures  of  women  in  their  blue  skirts  and 
long  veils.  Here  and  there  in  silhouette  against  the  blue 
sky  a  figure  stood  out  on  a  house-top,  while  others  of 
the  villagers  grouped  themselves  like  birds  on  the  walls 
that  banked  the  paths  and  road. 

The  men  were  on  their  way  to  the  bridge  at  the  foot 

of  the  hill,  where,  in  the  wayside  khan,  and  by  the  mill 

where  the  stream  rushes  with  the  vivaciousness  of 
champagne  through  the  arches  into  an  eddying  pool, 
they  intended  to  keep  watch  and  bid  their  favourite 
Consul  welcome  to  their  mountain  home.  Towards 
evening  they  returned  in  triumph  and  continued  the 
festivities  of  welcome  until  midnight.  Bonfires  were 
lighted  and  dancing  was  in  progress  for  many  hours 
before  the  Consul’s  dwelling,  and  later  in  the  courtyard 
of  the  locanda  for  the  entertainment  of  the  visitors  from 
u  Inghilterra.” 

In  the  deep  wadi  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  one  met 
with  the  strangest  contrasts  at  every  turn,  of  wild 


1 2  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Lebanon  scenery  and  sweet  sylvan  nooks  of  a  typically 
English  nature.  And  what  was  seen  in  one  deep  valley 
or  narrow  canon  was  characteristic  of  all  in  a  more  or 
less  wild  and  natural  degree,  according  to  accessibility 
and  the  proximity  of  habitations. 

Here  would  be  seen  a  rolling  cragside  scattered  with 
boulders,  and  overgrown  with  rhododendrons,  trees  and 
bushes  of  them,  wherever  was  to  be  found  the  smallest 
sustenance  for  their  roots.  Oleanders  clustered  near 
the  water,  their  roses  fresh  and  glowing  in  the  cool 
recesses  of  the  mountain,  even  beneath  the  ardour  of 
an  August  or  September  sun.  Here  was  a  Syrian  mill, 
quaint  and  even  picturesque,  worked  by  a  stream  diverted 
from  the  river  ;  higher  up  the  river  yet  another  came 
to  view  with  a  curious  rustic  bridge  slung  from  one  side 
of  the  water  to  the  other. 

It  was  strange  and  delightful  to  find  such  a  number 
of  romantic  spots  hidden  away  between  the  cliffs.  Baby 
brooks  slipped  unexpectedly  into  view  from  narrow 
passages  in  the  rocks,  tempting  one  to  turn  aside  and 
trace  them  to  their  source.  I  scrambled  over  the  water 
to  a  large  stone  in  the  middle  of  one  stream  which  I  had 
tracked  from  the  place  of  its  union  with  the  river,  and 
this  is  what  I  saw. 

A  sturdy  little  spring  gurgled  out  of  the  rocks 
at  the  foot  of  a  high  background  of  tangled  greenery, 
moss,  and  creepers  hanging  in  festoons.  Like  quicksilver 
playing  and  glittering  it  fell  in  a  tiny  whirlpool  which 
spread  and  merged  into  a  mellow-voiced,  limpid  stream, 
deeply  ensconced  between  high  barriers  of  precipitous 


The  Mountains  of  Lebanon 


i3 


cliffs  of  rich  and  varied  hues.  For  in  Mount  Lebanon 
as  well  as  the  limestone  formations  there  is  also  a  sand¬ 
stone  formation  of  reddish  and  yellow  hue,  with  a  certain 
amount  of  iron  ore  and  iron  pyrites  upon  clay  beds.  The 
colours  of  the  rocks  were  often  of  great  beauty,  and  the 
effect  of  sunlight  or  the  sunset  glow  upon  many  of  the 
cragsides  near  Ainzahalta  dyed  the  whole  into  a  full 
gamut  of  glowing  colours. 

However,  the  undersurface  of  stony  soil  and  rock 
in  this  little  home  of  the  stream  was  clothed  and  even 
concealed  by  ferns,  moss,  and  undergrowth  of  every 
variety  of  soft-hued  greens  and  greys,  already  displaying 
delicate  suggestions  of  autumn  tints.  Dainty  tendrils 
flung  caressing  feelers  round  the  fallen  bare  branches 
of  an  uprooted  sapling  which  stretched  across  the  stream 
from  one  bank  to  the  other.  Summer  insects  had  spun 
innumerable  webs  which  bound  leaves  and  stems  under 
a  spell  of  apparent  enchantment,  until  winter  frost  or 
snow  would  bring  all  to  a  swift  death. 

A  broad  band  of  moss  ran  like  a  living  ribbon  up 
from  the  bed-rock  of  the  brook  to  the  root  of  a  tree 
growing  out  from  the  cliff  near  the  summit.  The  grey 
trunk  grew  downward  in  inverted  position  for  several 
feet,  then  suddenly  curved  out  over  the  stream  and 
shot  erect,  spreading  into  small  tufted  branches  of  light- 
toned  foliage,  aspiring  skyward.  By  the  water  edge  grew 
a  cluster  of  purple  campanula.  A  solitary  sister  was 
growing  higher  up  the  rock,  where  emerald  fronds  of 
maidenhair  lifted  their  dainty  stems  from  a  bed  of 
glistening,  water-sprinkled  moss. 


14 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  opposite  bank  was  edged  thickly  with  the  ever¬ 
green  of  the  rhododendron.  Great  clusters  of  healthy 
osmundas,  displaying  a  redundance  as  luxuriant  as  bracken 
on  a  Welsh  hillside,  wandered  up  the  rock  or  bent  to 
the  mirror  of  water  below.  The  tranquil  rock,  lying  so 
demurely  under  its  veil  of  green,  burst  beyond  it  into 
joyous  waves  over  a  rocky  bed,  and  then  slipped  in  swift 
concentrated  current  to  a  hollow  in  the  rock,  smooth 
and  bevelled  with  the  never-ceasing  flow.  In  splashing 
content  it  sprang  over  step  after  step  of  rock,  slipping 
between  the  stones,  forming  here  a  crystal  pool  with 
pebbled  depth,  and  there  a  miniature  cascade. 

Overhead  where  the  trees  concealed  it  from  view,  the 
sky  peeped  through  with  clear  blue  eye  only  where  the 
effect  of  summer  heat  and  autumn  rime  had  already 
worked  havoc  in  the  leafy  boughs  ;  for  spring  is  late  and 
autumn  premature  in  these  rocky  fastnesses  of  Lebanon. 
A  little  bird  darted  from  side  to  side  in  blissful  in¬ 
decision  ;  there  were  so  many  tempting  springs  to  try, 
such  myriads  of  tantalising  sunbeams  to  catch  and  water- 
flies  to  chase.  High  on  the  brink  of  the  nearest  crag 
stood  a  pine-tree,  isolated,  but  cheerily  green  and 
fruitful. 

Lower  down  the  main  stream  another  little  burn 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley  came  hurrying  to 
join  it.  Near  the  meeting  of  the  waters  its  banks  were 
lined  with  willows,  shot  with  sheen  of  silver  and  grey. 
A  low  native  house  with  a  mulberry  plantation  were 
divided  from  each  other  by  the  brook.  The  house  was 
of  two  low  stories,  flat-roofed,  the  first  story  or  foundation 


The  Mountains  of  Lebanon 


i5 


affording  stabling  at  night  for  the  animals,  a  horse  and 
mule,  which  were  tethered  to  posts  beneath  the  willows 
close  to  the  little  khan. 

A  modern  water-wheel,  with  light-painted  wood  of 
an  aggressive  crudeness,  turned  on  its  axis  between  two 
barriers,  now  lazily,  now  swiftly,  the  water  splashing  and 
rushing  with  corresponding  unequal  rhythm.  The  current 
rippled  merrily  away  between  the  narrow  banks  under 
a  rough  stone  causeway  flung  carelessly  across.  It  bent 
with  serpentine  curves,  as  if  seeking  an  egress,  then  with 
sudden  energy  the  waters  expanded  into  a  spreading 
pool  which  overflowed  the  broken  masonry  of  the  mill- 
bank  in  leaping  rivulets  finding  its  home  in  the  river 
at  last. 


CHAPTER  II 

SOME  CHILDREN  OF  THE  LEBANON 


TRAVELLING,  until  quite  recent  years,  was  attended 
by  so  many  difficulties  in  Syria,  that  only  those 
who  united  enthusiasm  with  love  of  exploration  ever 
attempted  it,  except  by  the  safest  and  best-known 
routes. 

Fifty  years  ago  there  were  practically  no  roads, 
only  beaten  tracks  leading  from  place  to  place  over  the 
natural  soil,  or  unbroken  strata  of  bare  rock.  Roads 
were,  indeed,  hardly  needed,  for  wheeled  vehicles  of  the 
simplest  nature  were  then  unknown  in  the  country, 
the  mode  of  conveyance  for  man  and  traffic  being 
necessarily  by  camel,  horse,  donkey  or  mule.  Perhaps 
the  worst  and  most  arduous  district  to  penetrate  on  this 
account  was  the  mountainous  Lebanon.  The  railroad 
from  Beyrout  to  Damascus  has  only  been  constructed 
twelve  years.  The  diligence  road,  beside  which  it  winds 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  leading  up  to  the 
highest  passes  and  down  to  the  plain  of  the  Bekaa, 
was  built  by  the  French  during  their  occupation  of  the 
Lebanon  after  the  tragedy  of  i860,  and  thus  gives  a 
date  to  the  introduction  of  wheeled  vehicles. 

It  was  the  visit  of  the  German  Emperor  some 

16 


Some  Children  of  the  Lebanon  17 


years  ago  that  gave  a  tremendous  spurt  to  road-making 
in  Syria.  As  in  the  days  of  old,  so  in  the  present 
time,  the  rough  places  are  made  plain,  the  crooked 
paths  straight,  and  roads  prepared  even  through  the 
wilderness,  when  Oriental  authorities  in  high  places  are 
making  ready  to  welcome  the  visit  of  a  great  king 
or  dignitary.  In  every  way  that  is  in  their  power 
they  seek  to  facilitate  his  progress  through  their  own 
dominion,  even  to  making  roads  where  roads  have 
never  been  made  before.  Much  of  this  labour  was 
expended  in  vain,  for  a  sirocco  of  the  rare  duration 
of  twenty-one  days  also  gave  welcome  to  the  Imperial 
travellers  directly  they  set  foot  on  the  shores  of  the 
Levant.  Travelling  became  so  painful  a  pleasure  under 
these  conditions  that  the  visit  had  to  be  summarily 
curtailed.  Several  of  the  roads  in  readiness  were  never 
entered  upon  at  all,  and  have  since  fallen  into  entire 
disuse.  However,  the  necessary  impulse  once  given 
seems  to  have  worked  effects  elsewhere,  for  at  present 
no  better  carriage  roads  than  those  in  the  district  of 
Lebanon  are  to  be  found  in  all  Syria. 

This  is  only  by  way  of  explanation  before  stating 
that  the  new  road,  only  just  completed  between  Ain 
Sofar  and  Ainzahalta,  and  on  which  we  were  presumably 
the  first  travellers  by  carriage,  after  winding  round  the 
village,  continued,  with  many  bends,  to  ascend  the 
hillside  beyond.  The  steep  declivity  to  the  left  was 
barred-  by  a  low  parapet  of  great  stones  which  did  not 
hide  the  depth  of  the  mountain  fissure  beneath,  nor 
the  opposite  crag  with  its  remarkable  strata  and  massed 
vol.  1  3 


1 8  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

debris  of  brilliantly  hued  rocks,  the  vestiges  of  some 
pre-historic  volcanic  eruption. 

The  summit  was  crowned  with  a  small  forest  of 
pines,  among  which  in  summer-time  open-air  life  could 
be  enjoyed  to  perfection  under  conditions  of  ease  and 
good  fare,  and  having  for  a  continual  feast  of  aesthetic 
pleasure  the  wild,  romantic  beauty  of  a  vast  panorama. 
The  proprietors  of  the  colony  of  tents,  established  every 
summer  between  the  pines,  were  Syrians,  and  thoroughly 
understood  the  art  of  making  the  c<  simple  life  ”  on  the 
heights  of  Lebanon,  an  experience  which,  once  tasted 
by  their  guests,  was  generally  repeated  in  succeeding 
seasons. 

The  carriage  road  descended  by  short,  steep  curves 
to  the  valley  of  the  Baruk  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hill,  and  continued  as  far  as  Bet-ed-Din,  the  summer 
quarters  of  the  Governor  of  the  Lebanon.  His  castle, 
with  its  colonnades,  courts,  fountains,  and  beautiful 
gardens,  is  a  restored  palace  of  Emir  Beshir,  of  the 
noted  Shehaab  family,  who  was  chief  sheikh  of  the 
Druses  at  the  time  of  the  French  invasion  of  Syria  under 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  and  who,  after  Djezzar  Pasha’s 
death,  allied  himself  with  the  English  for  a  time,  with 
the  political  aim  in  view  of  freeing  his  territory  from 
the  power  of 'the  pashas.  The  ambitions  and  vicissi¬ 
tudes  of  this  emir’s  career  are  surprising  enough  to 
fill  a  book  of  themselves,  and  cannot  be  enlarged  upon 
here. 

Naoum  Pasha,  the  Governor  who  had  caused  this 
new  road  to  be  constructed,  with  the  object  of  connecting 


Sunset  in  the  Lebanon  :  Djebel  Baruk. 


Some  Children  of  the  Lebanon  ig 

his  summer  seat  of  government  with  the  railroad  at 
Ain  Sofar,  was  an  Armenian  by  birth.  He  was  also 
a  Christian.  Since  the  tragedy  of  the  Christian  massacre 
in  Damascus  and  the  Lebanon  in  i860,  when  Europe 
interfered  in  the  affairs  of  Turkey,  the  whole  Lebanon 
district,  exclusive  of  the  town  of  Beyrout,  has  been  an 
independent  sanjak  of  which  the  Governor  is  required 
to  be  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  his  appointment 
sanctioned  by  the  six  Powers.  Naoum  Pasha,  whom 
we  had  the  opportunity  of  meeting  with  his  wife  on 
several  occasions  at  the  Consul’s  house,  was  a  tall,  fair- 
bearded  man  of  good  presence  ;  he  was  in  his  tenth 
year  of  office,  having  been  re-elected  at  the  end  of  the 
first  five  years. 

His  wife,  the  daughter  of  a  former  pasha  and 
governor,  was  of  striking  appearance,  tall  and  dignified, 
with  an  abundance  of  auburn  hair  coiffed  in  the  latest 
mode.  She  was  a  cultured  woman,  possessed  great 
savoir-faire ,  and,  like  the  majority  of  Syrian  ladies, 
spoke  French  with  facility. 

Visitors  to  the  high  altitudes  of  the  Lebanon  are 
apt  to  flag  upon  their  first  arrival,  until  they  have 
had  time  to  become  accustomed  to  the  change  of  climate 
and  rarefied  air.  Some  people  take  at  least  a  fortnight 
to  get  used  to  both.  We  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  the  sirocco,  and  the  journey  in  the  intense  heat  in 
less  than  a  week,  and  then  started  one  day,  in  the  cool 
of  the  morning,  to  visit  the  villages  of  Baruk  and  El 
Fureidis,  situated  some  miles  distant  near  the  highroad 
to  Bet-ed-Din. 


20 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  ladies  in  residence  at  the  mission-house  divided 
their  labours,  the  one  acting  as  hakim  1  to  the  village 
and  vicinity,  the  other  visiting  the  schools  of  villages 
far  and  near.  The  latter  was  an  enthusiastic  walker, 
knowing  the  neighbourhood  well,  and  was  thoroughly 
fearless.  Under  her  kind  guidance,  we  started  on  foot, 
followed  by  a  donkey  and  muleteer,  carrying  provisions 
for  the  day,  and  the  necessary  sketching  gear  for  the 
artist. 

The  way  conducted  through  vineyards,  laid  out  in 
terraces  on  the  mountain-side,  until  gradually  the  ridge 
of  the  hill  was  gained,  and  we  touched  upon  a  broken 
track,  which  dipped  over  the  opposite  side  of  the  same 
hill  down  to  the  hamlet  of  El  Fureidis  (Paradise), 
clinging  to  the  steep  side  of  the  slope.  The  valley 
beneath  showed  a  luxuriant  vegetation  of  mulberry 
plantations  and  vines,  through  which  meandered  the 
River  Baruk,  artificially  divided  into  three  streams  for 
purposes  of  irrigating  the  whole  of  that  fertile  bed. 
Across  the  valley  was  the  village  of  Baruk,  built  terrace¬ 
like  with  the  flat  gleaming  roofs  rising  one  above  the 
other. 

Far  up  the  towering  mountain  background  was  visible 
in  miniature  the  dark  outline  of  one  grove  of  the  only 
cedars  that  are  now  remaining  of  all  the  abundance 
of  Lebanon’s  famous  forests.  Another  small  group  still 
remains  on  the  hills  above  Ainzahalta  ;  the  third  and 
most  frequently  visited  are  those  on  Djebel-el-Arz 
(Hill  of  Cedars),  6,000  feet  above  the  level  of  the 


1  Doctor. 


Some  Children  of  the  Lebanon  21 


sea,  and  easily  reached  from  Baalbek.  With  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  remnant  of  those  vast  woods,  which  had 
once  covered  the  whole  mountain-range,  we  formed 
a  firm  resolve  to  climb  the  steep  hill  to  the  summit  and 
see  them  at  near  view. 

Stepping  from  the  brilliant  sunshine  into  the  dim, 
cool  interior  of  the  little  school-house,  the  eye  had  to 
accustom  itself  to  the  subdued  light.  The  floor  was 
earthen,  hollowed  and  hillocked  by  age  and  use  into 
compact  cement  ;  the  ceiling  of  the  room  consisted  of 
dark  timber  beams,  formed  of  complete  trunks  of  trees. 
Two  stout  plaster  pillars,  rugged  and  irregular  in  shape, 
divided  the  long,  narrow  room,  and  fitted  in  between  the 
beams  overhead,  their  grey  hue  striking  the  eye  as  white 
in  contrast  with  the  seasoned  beams. 

The  tall  figure  of  the  native  teacher  advanced  to 
meet  us,  his  strong  dark  face  breaking  into  a  smile 
of  radiant  welcome.  He  wore  the  ordinary  fez  and  full 
pantaloons  with  a  coat. 

Now  the  eye,  accustomed  to  the  change  of  light, 
distinguished  first  a  long  row  of  little  bare  toes,  and  then 
the  sparkling  interested  gaze  of  small  figures,  squatting 
on  the  matting  against  two  of  the  walls.  Little  figures 
clad  in  blue,  and  red,  and  white  ;  little  faces,  deeply 
bronzed  and  delicately  fair  ;  little  heads,  with  brown 
or  black  hair,  curly  or  straight ;  little  faces,  bright  and 
intelligent,  shining  with  the  fire  of  an  ardent,  delightful 
curiosity. 

Between  the  plaster  pillars  a  table  stood  in  retreat, 
facing  a  low  doorway  with  sides  which  showed  the 


22 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

thickness  of  the  house  walls,  and  the  bright  green 
foliage  of  the  mulberry-trees  in  the  sunshine  without. 
Dark  and  intense  in  contrast  stood  out  the  figures  on 
either  side  of  the  open  door.  And  now  the  stalwart 
teacher  marshalled  forward  a  class  of  boys  to  face  the 
table.  The  visitor  opened  the  Bible,  and  every  scholar 
read  a  verse  in  his  turn,  and  when  the  passage  was 
finished,  question  was  put  and  answer  received,  the 
teacher  standing  at  hand  ready  to  prompt  and  support 
his  pupils. 

The  verve  and  personal  influence  of  their  examiner 
roused  thought  and  intelligence  in  the  class.  While  they 
still  stood  before  the  table  giving  no  eye  to  any  but 
the  one  face  confronting  them,  there  suddenly  appeared, 
framed  in  the  open  doorway,  a  tiny  black-eyed  maiden 
in  blue,  an  older  girl  peeping  round  the  corner.  The 
little  one  stood  open-eyed  and  wondering  in  heart- 
whole  enjoyment  of  the  scene,  while  the  big  girl  was 
shy  and  horribly  afraid  of  being  caught  peeping. 

Then  of  a  sudden  the  entrance  became  crowded  with 
draped,  veiled  figures  of  women.  The  news  had  spread 
that  strangers,  who  had  never  been  to  the  school  before, 
were  there  with  the  well-known  visitor,  and  none  could 
resist  coming  to  verify  report  with  their  own  eyes. 
Girls  stepped  inside  the  room,  and,  emboldened  by 
the  sight,  in  came  our  donkey-boy,  and,  unabashed, 
squatted  on  the  floor  in  the  most  conspicuous  spot  he 
could  find. 

The  first  class  stepped  aside  to  make  place  for  a 
second  section  of  lads  who  read  aloud  from  primers 


Some  Children  of  the  Lebanon  23 

and  the  ever-young  and  enduring  Peep  of  Day.  In 
the  shadow  of  the  great  mountains  of  Lebanon,  visible 
through  the  front  entrance,  the  rapt  little  turbaned 
faces  bent  over  their  book  at  the  chapter  speaking  of 
the  story  of  Joseph,  just  such  a  lad  as  one  of  themselves, 
their  lips  moving  silently  to  the  slow  rhythm  of  the 
one  who  was  reading  aloud. 

Though  the  majority  of  the  boys  wore  the  red,  or  a 
white  close-fitting  cap,  the  head-covering  highly  favoured 
by  all  was  an  ordinary  black  straw  hat,  ancient  and 
ragged,  and  that  seemed  to  belong  to  all  and  no  one 
in  particular.  Surreptitiously  it  passed  from  one  hand 
to  the  other,  that  every  one  might  experience  in  turn 
the  gratification  and  privilege  of  wearing  a  covering  so 
unique,  and  totally  different  from  the  jejune,  everyday 
cap. 

From  El  Fureidis  we  descended — 

“  To  see  the  green  plants  of  the  valley, 

To  see  whether  the  vine  budded, 

And  the  pomegranates  were  in  flower — 

To  see  the  flowing  streams  from  Lebanon.’’ 

We  wandered  along  the  river  bank  until  we  came 
to  a  green  island,  shaded  by  tall  and  thickly  leaved 
willows,  and  there  we  sat  us  down  to  eat  what  con¬ 
stituted  our  c<  precious  fruits,”  the  goodly  lunch  provided 
for  us.  Said,  our  muleteer,  with  a  little  help,  built  a 
small  wood  fire  between  the  stones  to  boil  water  for 
the  inevitable  tea,  as  much  prized  by  the  Arabs — 
when  they  can  get  it — as  by  an  ordinary  English  dame. 
The  word  “  tschai  is  a  magic  word,  conjuring  up  a 


24 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

smile  of  delectable  anticipation,  and  unlimited  exertion 
from  the  most  languid  of  Syrians  in  preparation  of  the 
necessary  fuel  at  any  time  or  season. 

As  we  sat  down  under  the  trees,  in  the  midst  of 
a  veritable  garden  of  green,  a  Druse  spied  us  out,  and 
crossed  the  stream  to  make  our  near  acquaintance,  and 
sit  in  friendly  commune  with  the  Inglizi  visitors,  always 
attractive  to  his  race.  For,  as  was  stated  before,  one 
and  all  of  the  Druses  bear  in  their  hearts  a  lofty 
notion  of  the  important  position  held  by  the  English 
nation  among  the  nations  of  the  world.  Falling  in 
with  the  custom  of  the  country  at  once,  we  invited 
him  to  join  the  repast,  an  invitation  in  which  he  ac¬ 
quiesced  with  a  cheerful  alacrity  and  many  salaams  of 
gratitude. 

It  is  undeniable  that  he  proved  to  be  a  very  hungry 
Druse,  and  he  was  grateful  too,  for  with  vehement 
speech  and  gesture  he  urged  us  to  come  with  him 
and  partake  of  hospitality  beneath  his  roof,  where  he 
hoped,  in  the  name  of  Allah,  that  we  would  also  remain 
for  the  night. 

The  martial  character  and  independent  spirit  of  the 
Druses  make  all  take  a  lively  interest  in  the  world’s 
politics  and  wars  totally  unconnected  with  their  own 
government.  This  man  was  insatiable  in  his  demand  for 
information  concerning  the  late  Boer  war,  and  boasted  of 
the  number  of  Lebanon  Druses  who  at  a  single  word 
from  the  English  monarch  would  set  out  in  their  tens  of 
thousands  to  fight  for  his  cause  against  the  world. 

We  left  him  to  discuss  the  affairs  of  the  universe 


Some  Children  of  the  Lebanon  25 

with  the  artist,  whom  he  had  conveyed  pick-a-back  across 
the  stream  within  sketching  distance  of  a  flock  of  black- 
fleeced  goats  with  their  herd,  and  set  out  for  the  schools 
of  Baruk.  One  feat  of  supererogation  awaited  me  on 
the  way  that  was  quite  unforeseen.  The  river  remained 
between  us  and  our  goal,  and  unless  we  undertook  a 
lengthened  walk,  for  which  time  and  the  heat  scarcely 
provided,  there  was  no  means  of  crossing  to  the  other 
side  except  upon  the  rocky,  streaming  ridge  of  a  small 
weir.  My  companion,  an  adept  in  Lebanon  climbing, 
crossed  with  comparative  ease,  but  alack  !  for  me  there 
was  no  alternative  but  to  take  off  stockings  and  shoes 
and  wade  knee-deep  through  the  water.  The  icy  cold¬ 
ness  of  that  River  Baruk  was  not  readily  forgotten,  for  it 
left  the  undesirable  legacy  of  a  severe  cold,  to  which  I 
allude  on  the  simple  score  of  warning  to  others  not  to  go 
and  do  likewise  in  the  quite  tropical  heat  of  a  midsummer 
day  in  the  Lebanon. 

After  a  long  walk  through  a  labyrinth  of  stony  paths, 
rough  as  the  pebbled  beds  of  a  mountain  torrent,  we 
reached  the  school  with  its  fifty  scholars,  big  and  small 
boys.  The  variety  of  costume  was  here  more  marked, 
tunics  of  old  faded  colours,  striped  red  and  white,  or 
dark  and  light  blue.  Over  these  some  of  the  boys  wore 
embroidered  zouave  coats  in  black,  brilliant  orange,  or 
plain  white.  Their  headgear  varied  from  the  plain  red 
skull-cap  to  caps  of  black  astrachan,  white  wool,  and 
velvet  figured  with  silver.  Bare  feet  alternated  with 
old  shoes  and  slippers  displaying  the  bare  feet  thrust 
within. 


VOL.  1 


4 


26 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  types  of  faces  were  extraordinarily  diverse. 
There  were  grey  eyes,  and  deep  lustrous  eyes.  The 
grey-eyed  had  small  chins  and  delicate  features.  The 
brown  eyes  were  set  in  faces  of  a  rounder,  more  solid 
cast,  but  brimful  of  intelligence.  There  were  nervous, 
thin  little  faces,  too,  among  them,  with  sweet  dark  eyes  of 
mercurial  activity  and  finely  pointed  chins. 

A  Druse  sheikh  followed  us  in  from  the  village  path, 
and  took  a  chair  by  my  side  without  waiting  for  an 
invitation  or  permission  to  be  present.  From  time  to 
time  he  turned  solemn  looks  of  inquiry  through  a  pair 
of  huge,  brass-framed  spectacles,  upon  the  Inglizi  visitor 
to  the  school,  more  especially  when  anxious  to  note  the 
impression  made  by  his  son’s  erudition  displayed  in 
reading  English  from  the  primer.  His  son,  by  the  way, 
was  already  a  shoemaker,  and  though  then  an  ex-member 
of  the  school,  had  hastened  to  leave  his  occupation — 
doubtless  at  the  father’s  bidding — and  hurry  within  to 
take  a  proud  share  in  the  examination  and  reading  of 
his  comrades. 

For  this  special  village  of  Baruk  the  continent  of 
South  America  holds  a  special  interest,  Buenos  Ayres 
being  the  town  to  which  many  of  the  people  emigrate. 
The  sum-total  of  the  Druse  sheikh’s  meditations  during 
•  the  half-hour  spent  in  the  school  was  revealed  in  the 
question  put  at  the  close  with  a  great  show  of  earnestness  : 

u  Do  the  Spanish  people  of  South  America  resemble 
these  English  people  ?  ” 

The  closing  hymn,  sung  with  great  heartiness,  was 
started  by  the  missionary  visitor  to  the  tune  of  a  Turkish 


Some  Children  of  the  Lebanon  27 

national  air.  Through  an  open  window  peered  the 
heads  of  veiled  women,  with  smiling  and  delighted  eyes, 
one  holding  up  a  spotlessly  clean,  fair-haired  child  to 
watch  the  singers. 

From  this  school-house  we  went  on  to  the  girls’ 
school.  On  the  way  through  the  village  we  passed  a 
number  of  Druse  women  sitting  within  the  cool  recessed 
entrances  of  their  houses,  who  gave  us  pressing  invitation 
to  enter,  and  appeared  deeply  disappointed  at  our  refusal 
for  lack  of  time.  They  were  all  of  an  exceedingly 
handsome  type,  wearing  their  abundant  hair  woven  in 
thick  plaits,  which  they  wound  round  the  head  and 
chin  making  a  unique  setting,  like  a  frame,  for  their 
truly  classical,  marble-hued  faces.  Their  spotless  veils 
hung  over  the  head  and  nearly  to  the  ground  in  straight 
flowing  lines. 

The  building  we  now  entered  was  a  new  one  with 
mud  walls,  and  cemented  floor,  with  no  glass  to  the 
windows,  only  iron  bars  across,  letting  in  the  sweet 
mountain  air  and  sunshine.  The  girls  sat  on  low  benches 
round  three  sides  of  the  room,  the  infants  with  folded 
arms  as  in  an  English  school  ;  little  dark  heads  with 
clear  skins,  sun-browned,  and  wonderful  eyes,  melting 
and  big  like  those  of  their  mothers  whom  we  had  just 
seen. 

A  row  of  older  girls  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
several  with  white  veils,  others  with  head-shawls  folded 
cornerways  and  tied  beneath  the  chin :  green,  scarlet, 
and  purple  mingled  with  the  white.  Some  of  their  sweet¬ 
sounding  names,  for  which  I  made  inquiry,  still  linger 


28 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

like  music  in  the  mind  :  Hafiza  ;  Naifeh,  which  means 
“delicate”  ;  Hacibeh  ;  Saida  ;  Yacod  ;  Drea  ;  Kitsyia  ; 
and  so  forth,  all  bearing  some  under-current  of 
meaning. 

Outside  those  barred  windows  were  the  everlasting 
hills  and  the  grey  rocks  bathed  in  sunlight.  Within, 
the  voices  of  thirty  Syrian  maidens,  singing  with  spirit 
and  whole-hearted  joy  of  aspect  : 

The  Lord  is  our  Rock — in  whom  we  abide, 

A  Shelter  from  the  stormy  blast. 

In  winter-time  the  number  of  these  girls  increases 
to  as  many  as  sixty,  but  in  the  summer  there  is  work 
for  them  to  do  elsewhere  ;  education  must  be  secondary. 
The  teachers  of  these  two  schools,  the  boys  and  the  girls, 
were  brother  and  sister,  and  when  their  duties  for  the 
day  were  over,  they  joined  us  by  the  river-side,  where 
we  found  another  shaded  retreat  beneath  willows,  and 
had  tea  all  together  before  starting  on  the  homeward 
route. 

A  few  days  later  the  villagers  excelled  themselves  in 
celebrating  the  great  occasion  of  the  Consul’s  birthday. 
The  balcony  of  the  lewan  in  his  house  directly  overlooked 
the  roof  of  the  lower  part  of  the  building,  stretching  out 
like  a  broad  spacious  terrace.  A  series  of  small  bonfires 
was  lighted  on  the  border  of  two  sides,  while  the  other 
sides  of  the  roof  were  thronged  with  the  picturesque 
figures  of  Druse  and  Maronite  highlanders,  the  gay  colours 
of  their  garb  and  dark  faces  with  flashing  eyes  weirdly 
illuminated  by  the  environment  of  leaping  flames.  They 


Some  Children  of  the  Lebanon  29 

danced  untiringly  on  this  terrace  until  nearly  midnight,  to 
the  accompaniment  of  their  own  rhythmic  hand-clapping, 
swaying  of  the  body,  and  the  shrill,  half-melodious, 
half-plaintive  music  of  their  reed-pipes. 

In  the  interval  one  of  these  men  came  into  the  lewan, 
where  refreshments  were  being  served  for  guests  of  the 
house  invited  over  from  the  locanda,  and  performed 
some  very  clever  sword  feats.  Two  paper  loops  were 
suspended  over  two  chairs,  and  upon  these  was  balanced, 
with  great  care  in  the  placing  so  as  not  to  damage  the 
paper,  a  stout  stick  of  poplar  wood.  With  one  swoop  of 
his  sword  the  man  cut  the  wood  cleanly  in  two  without 
breaking  or  stirring  the  loops  of  paper. 

Another  stick  was  produced,  examined,  and  then 
placed  across  two  wineglasses,  which  in  their  turn  were 
raised  on  the  top  of  a  couple  of  empty  bottles.  Again 
the  sword  expert  cut  the  stick  in  two,  but,  to  his  own 
intense  chagrin,  smashed  one  of  the  wineglasses,  though 
the  other  remained  intact.  Nothing  would  pacify  him 
but  permission  to  make  a  second  attempt.  He  did  so, 
and  with  perfect  success. 

“  A  Chinese  executioner  to  the  life,”  whispered  a 
bystander. 

He  withdrew  to  the  roof  to  perform,  in  concert  with 
a  companion,  a  dance,  called  u  the  Sword  Dance,”  with 
such  realistic  and  excited  action  that  it  was  with  a  measure 
of  relief  we  heard  they  were  both  Christians.  So  quickly 
does  the  latent  animosity  between  Druse  and  Maronite 
leap  to  sight  at  the  smallest  provocation  that  one  can 
never  tell  what  may  not  inadvertently  be  the  tinder 


30 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 


kindling  the  ready  fire.  One  dance  followed  the  other 
in  rapid  succession,  while  at  intervals  the  Arab  coachman, 
dressed  in  his  livery  of  white  linen,  quietly  let  off  rockets 
almost  under  our  noses  all  in  honour  of  his  master  and 
Inghilterra. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  DRUSE  SHEIKH 

Mine  age  is  removed  and  is  carried  away  from  me  like  a  shepherd’s 
tent :  I  have  rolled  up  like  a  weaver  my  life ;  he  will  cut  me  off  from 
the  loom. 

THE  locanda  was  situated  on  the  hillside.  The  flat 
sun-baked  roofs  of  the  village  spread  out  below 
on  the  same  plane  as  the  mulberry  tree-tops  which  en¬ 
framed  them,  the  colours  combining  to  form  a  whimsical 
mosaic  of  multi-toned  greens  and  greys.  On  the  slope 
above  the  locanda  were  some  Druse  cottages  grouped 
round  an  open  space  of  ground  serving  as  a  court  to  the 
small  community. 

One  of  these  dwelling-places  stood  on  the  bank 
immediately  above  my  room.  When  the  wooden  shutter 
of  the  window  which  faced  the  passage  between  the 
locanda  wall  and  the  sheer  rock  of  the  hillside  was 
swung  open,  there  often  descended  to  the  ear  from  the 
Druse  interior  the  sound  of  the  querulous,  high-pitched 
tones  uttered  by  a  very  aged  man. 

One  day  the  repose  of  our  siesta  was  broken  into  by 
the  clatter  of  rushing  feet  on  the  plateau  below  the  house. 
A  number  of  natives  ran  up  the  steps  at  the  side,  crossed 
without  ceremony  the  open  court  of  the  locanda,  and 
scrambled  to  the  terrace  above.  From  the  loggia  an 


3* 


32 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

hour  later  figures  could  be  seen  moving  hurriedly  to  and 
fro  behind  the  breastwork  of  loose,  piled  stones  that 
skirted  the  bank.  They  were  handling  a  large  piece  of 
drapery  which  they  proceeded  to  suspend  over  the  court 
while  they  talked  loudly  in  visible  excitement. 

“  What  has  happened  ?  ”  I  asked  of  a  native  standing 
near. 

“  It  is  a  death,”  was  the  reply.  tc  The  death  of  an 
old  Druse  sheikh  who  was  a  hundred  and  ten  years  of  age.” 

Already  a  chorus  of  women's  voices  bewailed  the 
dead.  Their  lament  was  both  weird  and  affecting,  though 
the  musical  phrase  reiterated  with  unvarying  monotony 
was  crudely  elemental.  The  clatter  of  feet  over  the  stony 
track  continued,  the  hum  of  voices  steadily  heightened. 
The  day  rapidly  declined  until  valley  and  mountain-side 
became  veiled  in  the  golden  rain  of  sunset  rays.  With 
the  vanishing  of  sunlight,  dusk  dropped  into  night  with 
tropical  swiftness.  At  intervals  the  wailing  of  the  women 
was  strengthened  by  the  admixture  of  male  voices  uplifted 
in  a  curious  slow  measure,  both  drawling  and  monotonous, 
the  words  being  uttered  with  a  quavering  twang  that 
was  the  quintessence  of  elegiac  melancholy. 

Dark  figures  still  continued  to  thread  the  stony  tracks 
from  the  village.  They  climbed  the  bank  of  crumbling 
debris  and  proceeded  in  decorous  procession  along  the 
terrace  singing  their  funeral  dirge.  Their  heads  drooped 
dejectedly  on  their  breasts,  the  handkerchief  carried  in 
obtrusive  evidence  by  one  and  all  was  pressed  to  the 
eyes  with  frequent  dramatic  action  accompanied  by 
sobbing  upheaval  of  the  chest.  The  i  portrayed  emotion 


The  Translation  of  the  Druse  Sheikh  33 

could  be  regarded  as  feigned  or  spontaneous  according 
to  the  viewpoint  of  the  spectator. 

Hearing  that  a  visit  would  be  regarded  as  a  mark  of 
condolence  and  sympathy  by  the  dead  sheikh’s  relatives, 
we  resolved  to  betake  ourselves  to  the  scene  of  mourning. 
A  broad  area  of  light  beneath  the  canopy  which  was 
suspended  over  the  open  space  between  the  Druse 
cottages,  was  visible  through  the  arches  of  the  loggia, 
but  a  direct  ascent  of  the  bank,  with  its  steep  slope 
and  stone  barrier  above,  was  impracticable.  To  gain 
the  summit  we  had  to  cross  the  open  ground  in  front 
of  the  locanda,  to  dip  into  a  pebbly  path,  and  then 
turn  abruptly  up  the  hill  in  face  of  a  house  standing  at 
the  end  of  a  terrace  occupied  by  the  group  of  cottages. 

It  was  a  superior  Druse  habitation,  constructed  after 
the  ordinary  style  in  the  Lebanon.  The  lower  part 
consisted  of  stables  and  recesses  for  cattle,  and  provender 
entered  through  arches  of  massive  stonework  ;  the  upper 
dwelling  was  approached  by  steps  opening  into  the  large 
porch  or  loggia,  which  had  two  archways  formed  by 
slender  pillars,  while  doors  within  gave  entrance  to  the 
various  rooms.  The  windows,  also  the  arches  of  the 
loggia,  were  rimmed  with  a  broad  outline  of  white,  which 
gleamed  with  a  spectral  pallor  in  the  flickering  light  shed 
by  some  scattered  petroleum  lamps  of  primitive  make. 

We  stumbled  over  the  rising  ground,  passed  the 
Druse  house  and  its  adjoining  courtyard,  and  pro¬ 
ceeded  towards  the  canopied  space,  our  goal.  A  vast 
crowd  of  sombre,  draped  figures,  with  wild  eyes  flashing 
below  the  snow-white  bands  wreathing  their  brows,  was 

5 


VOL.  I 


34 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

collected  on  that  bare  terrace  of  earth.  They  sat  in 
circles  round  lamps  on  the  ground,  or  in  groups  on  the 
stone  wall  guarding  the  precipitous  bank  to  the  right. 

With  becoming  gravity  of  bearing  we  passed  slowly 
through  the  crowded  space  towards  an  archway  leading 
into  the  Druse  settlement  where  the  death  had  occurred. 
Three  tall  Druses,  relatives  of  the  deceased,  stood  there 
to  receive  the  visits  of  condolence,  and  conduct  the 
caller  to  the  lying-in-state  of  the  sheikh.  They  were 
eager  to  make  way  for  us,  manifesting  open  satisfaction 
at  our  appearance.  With  ceremony  they  conducted  us 
through  the  archway,  passing  by  the  open  door  of  a 
mean  dwelling  made  temporarily  attractive  by  a  light 
on  the  floor  within  playing  with  lurid  effect  on  the 
fantastic  costumes  of  men,  who  talked  together  inside 
with  animated  gestures.  But  only  a  glance  in  passing, 
for  attention  was  instantly  absorbed  by  the  sense  of 
mystery  in  the  air,  our  feet  were  drawn  swiftly  forward 
by  the  compelling  notes  of  the  women’s  mournful  chant. 

Suddenly  we  emerged  on  the  squared  enclosure  over 
which  from  below  we  had  watched  the  canopy  dilate 
and  subside  like  a  sail  in  the  evening  breeze.  Whither 
had  the  spirit  led  us  ?  Was  this  a  scene  conjured  up, 
by  the  necromancy  of  the  dusky  figures  conducting  us, 
from  the  age  of  the  Patriarchs  ?  And  was  that  marble-still 
figure  lying  in  state  under  the  centre  of  the  draped  dome 
one  of  those  historic  characters  whose  names  Biblical 
literature  brings  glibly  to  our  lips,  though  our  minds 
receive  so  vague  and  limited  an  impression  of  the  local 
setting  of  custom  and  race  ? 


The  Translation  of  the  Druse  Sheikh  35 

It  was  a  dignified  profile,  possessing  the  noble  aquiline 
nose  that  signifies  the  power  of  command,  the  fine 
Eastern  contour  of  cheek  and  chin,  the  prominent  brow 
throwing  into  relief  the  sunken  socket  of  the  closed 
eyelids  which  doubtless  concealed  orbs  as  wildly  bright 
in  the  heyday  and  pride  of  life  as  those  of  the  men 
standing  near.  Round  his  head  was  rolled  the  snowy 
fillet,  that  outward  badge  which  signifies  that  the  Druse 
who  wears  it  is  a  wise  Druse,  an  akkal,  who,  through 
self-discipline  and  the  outward  marks  of  a  blameless 
life — such  as  total  abstinence  from  intoxicating  drinks 
or  the  use  of  tobacco — has  advanced  so  far  in  the 
wisdom  of  his  religion  as  to  be  admitted  into  the  Khalweh, 
their  secret  places  of  worship  erected  in  remote  places 
and  closed  to  all  outsiders,  as  well  as  to  their  own 
womankind.  The  dead  sheikh  was  dressed  in  the  garb 
of  his  race — full  pantaloons,  coloured  vest,  united  by 
a  broad  sash  ;  the  whole  surmounted  by  a  flowing  black 
robe  which  stretched  in  classical  folds  from  head  to  feet. 

The  dais  on  which  he  lay  consisted  of  several 
mattresses  resting  one  upon  the  other,  their  predominating 
colours  of  red  and  gold  forming  a  framework  for  the 
statuesque  sleeper.  Two  lighted  candles  were  burning 
at  the  head,  and  one  on  each  side  of  the  white-socked 
feet.  On  the  ground  below  the  feet  there  stood  a 
candle  on  a  tall  stand  casting  a  circle  of  light,  catching 
the  eye  directly  upon  approach.  It  was  a  facsimile 
of  the  candlestick  referred  to  in  Holy  Writ  placed 
by  the  man  “  that  they  which  came  in  might  see  the 
light.” 


36  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Grouped  on  the  ground  in  a  circle  round  the  bier 
were  the  women,  the  only  spot  on  the  whole  terrace 
where  they  were  to  be  seen.  The  long  white  veils, 
drawn  half  over  their  faces,  were  hanging  over  their 
shoulders  to  the  ground  in  unstudied  picturesque  folds 
that  enveloped  yet  revealed  the  yielding  lines  of  the 
figure.  At  first  glance  there  seemed  to  be  no  method 
in  the  arrangement  of  this  group,  but  it  soon  transpired 
that  the  mourners,  one  on  either  side  of  the  da'is,  com¬ 
pletely  covered  by  their  veils,  and  bending  close  and  low 
to  the  earth  as  if  overwhelmed  with  calamity,  were  the 
dead  sheikh’s  two  aged  sisters,  one  of  the  amazing  age  of 
a  hundred  and  fifteen,  the  other  a  little  younger.  Squatting 
in  a  crescent  round  the  head  were  the  other  women 
relatives,  and  behind  them,  and  continuing  the  circle,  were 
grouped  women  of  the  Druse  religion.  The  large  number 
clustered  round  the  foot  of  the  bier  with  the  veils  thrown 
off  the  faces  and  sweeping  the  ground  behind  were 
Christian  women — that  is  to  say,  they  were  Maronites, 
or  Greek  Catholics. 

There  was  a  stir  as  we  approached,  and  the  women 
relatives  signified  their  wish  that  we  should  be  seated. 
We  declined  with  courteous  thanks  and  stood  near, 
breath  *  involuntarily  halting  with  suppressed  awe  and 
sympathy.  The  simplicity,  the  naturalness  of  the 
open-air  ceremony  preparatory  to  the  scene  of  the 
morrow’s  entombment,  possessed  a  charm  not  wholly 
emotional. 

Under  the  veils  of  two  or  three  of  the  women 
peered  forth  a  baby’s  curly  head.  A  little  child  stood 


The  Translation  of  the  Druse  Sheikh  37 

upright  in  a  small  open  space  left  round  the  tall  candle¬ 
stick.  She  looked,  in  feature  and  colouring,  as  if  she  had 
stepped  out  of  one  of  Murillo’s  masterpieces.  The  big 
solemn  eyes  wandered  round  till  they  rested  on  our 
group,  which  held  her  in  fascinated  contemplation  the 
whole  time  we  stood  near.  Other  children,  boys  and 
girls  of  tender  age,  slipped  quietly  in  and  between  the 
women,  or  glided  in  the  background  like  figures  in  a 
stage  scene.  The  insistent  rhythm  of  the  women’s 
chant  aided  the  illusion. 

It  was  explained  by  the  Druse  accompanying  us 
that  the  man  for  whom  they  mourned  was  a  sheikh 
and  an  akkal  ;  that  if  he  had  been  young,  and  still 
unversed  in  the  practice  and  tenets  of  his  religion,  the 
wailing  would  have  been  more  pronounced,  even  violent. 
He  would  have  been  carried  to  and  fro,  loud  inter¬ 
cessions  and  laments  would  have  been  his  portion. 

But  this  sheikh  had  exceeded  the  allotted  span  of 
life.  It  was  time  that  he  should  be  born  again.  Hence 
their  chanting  was  intended  to  be  more  a  soothing 
accompaniment  to  the  passage  of  his  soul  to  a  new 
life  ;  a  testimony  to  his  many  virtues,  and  the  wisdom 
and  goodness  of  a  life  brought  by  natural  decadence 
of  the  physical  part  of  his  being  to  nature’s  death.  He 
had  been  a  wise  sheikh,  a  good  sheikh.  He  would 
therefore  be  born  again  in  China. 

“  How  blessed  will  it  be  when  all  people  are  born 
again  in  China,”  chanted  the  women,  as  we  stood  there, 
the  belief  of  the  simple-minded  of  their  race  being  that 
the  soul  of  a  good  Druse  is  always  born  again  in  China, 


38  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

that  of  a  bad  Druse  in  Egypt.  In  a  word,  China  is 
their  ideal  Paradise,  Egypt  their  place  of  torment.  They 
hold  to  the  firm  conviction  that  half  of  the  Chinese 
of  the  present  day  have  been  Druses  in  their  past 
lives. 

“  The  gates  of  China  are  opening,  his  new  parents 
are  giving  him  welcome,”  continued  the  women.  “  He 
will  be  a  prince,  a  pasha,  a  great  man  in  his  new 
home.” 

A  commotion  in  the  rear  accompanied  by  the  loud 
nasal  singing  of  a  fresh  company  of  mourners  diverted 
the  attention  of  the  gaunt,  delicate-looking  Druse 
at  our  side.  Hastily  he  left  us  to  receive  his  new 
guests. 

Out  of  the  obscurity  a  procession  of  dark  figures 
slowly  evolved  into  shape,  headed  by  a  fine-looking 
man  arrayed  in  white  woollen  robes  that  only  lacked 
the  insignia  of  the  cross  to  give  him  the  appearance 
of  a  priest  vested  for  religious  service.  Close  behind 
him  was  a  black-bearded  man  arrayed  in  cassock  and 
mitre.  They  were  respectively  the  mudir  or  governor 
of  the  village,  and  the  Greek  priest,  with  attendants 
and  the  heads  of  the  chief  families  in  the  community. 

All  held  a  folded  handkerchief  in  their  hands, 
pressing  it  to  their  eyes  when  they  halted  every  few 
steps  to  groan  and  catch  their  breath  convulsively,  while 
their  dirge  of  lamentation  dragged  out  in  dismal  notes 
of  unison.  These  newcomers  were  so  large  a  company 
that  the  surrounding  space  was  thronged  with  figures. 
We  retired  a  few  paces  and  stood  under  a  young 


The  Translation  of  the  Druse  Sheikh  39 

acacia-tree  growing  on  the  brink  of  the  slope,  its  foliage 
casting  grotesque  shadows  on  the  canopy  lighted  up 
from  beneath.  As  the  men  approached,  the  women 
pulled  their  veils  closer  over  their  faces  ;  their  chant, 
lowered  in  tone,  giving  natural  precedence  to  the  masculine 
chorus. 

These  two  functionaries  of  the  village  with  their 
companions  marched  solemnly  round  the  circle  of  women, 
the  volume  of  lamentation  increasing  in  agitated  sound 
and  speed.  The  circle  completed,  they  came  to  a  pause, 
though  their  voices  ceased  not  from  wailing  aloud  as 
they  alternately  dried  their  eyes  and  gazed  upon  the 
dead  sheikh.  Then  with  automatic  precision  they  wheeled 
slowly  round  and  marched  gravely  away,  keeping  up  the 
same  appearance  of  funereal  woe,  the  harsh  tones  mellowing 
into  plaintive  indistinctness  in  the  distance.  Close  at 
hand  the  women  renewed  with  tireless  repetition  their 
monotonous  plaint. 

One  lingering  look  at  the  living  picture  :  that 
unconscious  figure  lying  in  subjection  to  the  King  of 
Terror  yet  manifesting  naught  but  peace  and  repose  in 
the  placid  dignity  of  the  lifeless  features  ;  the  body¬ 
guard  of  veiled  women  ;  the  children  in  close  proximity 
symbolising  love  clasping  hand  with  death  ;  the  candle- 
flames  typical  of  the  vital  spark  fled  from  that  motionless 
form  to  find  new  habitation  according  to  their  religious 
belief  in  the  Utopian  land  of  China — strange  incongruity 
of  symbol  and  ideal,  survival  and  perversion  in  one  and 
the  same  breath.  Then  a  long  gaze  upwards,  where, 
between  the  swaying  border  of  the  canopy  and  the 


4° 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

black  edge  of  the  flat  roof  opposite,  a  clear  space  of 
deep  purple  sky  had  become  gradually  suffused  with  a 
silvery  bloom,  which  announced  the  rising  of  the  crescent 
moon. 

We  turned  to  leave,  and  again  faced  the  vista  of 
figures  crowding  the  open  space  beyond  the  archway. 
Dark,  lustrous  faces,  with  gleaming  eyes  smiling  kindly 
at  the  “  Inglizi  ”  visitors,  peered  with  undisguised 
curiosity  through  the  dim  atmosphere  from  all  sides. 
Salutations  of  peace  accompanied  our  withdrawal  as  we 
picked  our  way  in  the  dark  under  difficulties  of  rock- 
strewn  paths  back  to  the  locanda. 

Women  held  their  watch  and  prolonged  their 

mourning  dirge  until  daybreak.  The  places  of  those 
who  were  tired  were  filled  at  once  by  newcomers. 
Another  visit  of  condolence  was  made  early  next 

morning  by  the  mudir,  attended  by  the  same  ceremonious 
details  of  lament.  They  then  remained  on  the  terrace 
with  the  relatives,  and  sitting  in  a  circle  they  chanted 
their  burial  service  at  certain  intervals  for  several  hours 
before  the  interment.  Deputations  from  the  neighbouring 
villages,  to  which  word  of  the  death  had  swiftly  been 
carried,  also  arrived  in  large  numbers.  The  same 

musical  phrase  was  repeated  by  each  body  of  men  as 
they  trod  the  steep  track  from  the  village  and  mounted 
to  the  scene  of  mourning.  It  was  evidently  a 

customary  elegiac  tune  to  which  was  adapted  an 
improvised  eulogy  of  the  dead  to  suit  the  occasion  and 
personality. 

The  visit  of  ceremony  to  the  dead  sheikh’s  family 


The  Translation  of  the  Druse  Sheikh  41 

creating  the  most  attention  and  grateful  acknowledgment 
was  that  made  by  the  British  Consul-General. 

Young  men  and  old,  children  and  babies  in  arms, 
all  arrayed  in  best  garments,  congregated  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  house.  Boys  in  full  pantaloons,  scarlet  or  purple 
vests  beautifully  embroidered,  with  short  coats  and  sashes 
round  the  hips,  white  turbans  binding  their  foreheads, 
strutted  round  in  conscious  pride  of  festal  array.  The 
noonday  sun  blazed  on  the  stony  ground,  giving  to  the 
grey  roofs  an  obtrusive  glare. 

Then  people  began  to  bestir  themselves  briskly. 
A  distinguished  personage  from  Baaklene,  the  chief 
Druse  centre  in  the  Lebanon,  had  arrived  to  offer  his 
condolences  and  be  present  at  the  funeral  ceremony. 
This  was  the  Sheikh-el-Akkal,  the  head  sheikh  of  the 
Druses,  holding  among  them  a  position  equivalent  in 
rank  to  that  held  by  a  Greek  Patriarch  ;  he  made  an 
impressive  appearance  surrounded  by  his  subordinates, 
his  tall  black-robed  figure  surmounted  by  the  white 
fillet,  rising  above  them  like  a  cedar  in  the  midst  of 
young  pine-trees. 

Soon  after  noon  a  loud  wailing  cry  was  uttered 
by  the  assembled  company.  Beneath  the  canopy,  trans¬ 
formed  in  the  sunlight  into  a  dome  of  indigo  hue, 
moved  a  struggling  mass  of  men,  their  heads  and 
shoulders  just  visible  above  the  stone  barrier.  They 
were  all  greatly  excited.  In  another  moment  they  stood 
erect,  bearing  on  their  shoulders  the  burden  of  the 
dead  sheikh’s  coffin.  It  was  a  roughly  made  case  with 
no  lid,  and  broader  at  the  head  than  at  the  feet.  The 

6 


VOL.  1 


42 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

body  was  concealed  by  a  canvas  covering  strapped 
round  the  coffin  with  bands  and  ropes  of  divers 
colours.  On  one  side  was  attached  a  plain  white  strip 
bearing  the  inscription,  “  Allah  hakh  !  ”  (God  is  just). 

About  ten  sheikhs,  with  the  Sheikh-el- Akkal  pro¬ 
minent  in  their  midst,  headed  the  procession  as  it 
advanced  slowly  along  the  terrace.  The  majority  of  the 
mourners  walked  in  a  crowd  surrounding  the  bearers 
of  the  coffin,  chanting  without  intermission  the  familiar 
funeral  dirge.  They  descended  the  rugged  track  and 
turned  to  the  left  along  the  plateau  beneath  the  northern 
wall  of  the  locanda.  Up  they  clambered  over  the  stones 
to  a  path  which  wound  close  to  the  mountain-side. 

Terrace  upon  terrace  of  mulberry-trees  planted  in 
red  soil,  and  banked  murally  with  rough  stones,  sloped 
abruptly  to  the  valley.  Gazing  upwards,  the  stone-banked 
terraces,  which  stretched  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
embosomed  thousands  of  vines,  heavy  with  the  ripening 
vintage  of  grapes.  Across  the  valley  the  lime-streaked 
cliffs  rose  sheer  from  the  river  concealed  in  the  wadi-bed 
by  pinewoods  skirting  its  banks,  and  then  merged  into 
the  parched  brown  slopes  of  an  extended  hill-range. 
The  mulberry-groves  were  left  behind.  Odd-shaped 
patches  of  stubble-land  divided  by  stone  barriers  came 
into  view,  with  here  and  there  a  solitary  group  of  pine- 
trees  arresting  the  eye  with  their  spreading  crests  of 
vivid  green. 

Now  there  came  a  stage  of  the  way  where  the 
steepness  of  the  slope  yielded  nothing  but  a  spur  of 
massive  rocks  rising  in  spiky  turrets  against  the  skyline. 


DRUSE  TOMB,  MOUNT  LEBANON 


The  Translation  of  the  Druse  Sheikh  43 

These  had  split  asunder  under  influence  of  summer  sun 
and  torrents  of  winter,  scattering  a  heavy  debris  of 
boulders  of  all  sizes  and  colours  over  the  pathway.  They 
made  a  quarry  of  the  precipitous  ground,  which  was  only 
redeemed  from  absolute  desolation  by  the  magic  effect 
of  sunlight  upon  the  colouring  of  the  flints. 

Along  this  rough  ascent  the  crowd  of  mourners 
contracted  into  a  lengthened  train.  The  dirge  of  wailing 
waxed  wilder  and  louder.  It  was  evident  that  the  place 
of  interment  was  close  at  hand.  Round  the  rocky  spur 
of  the  hill,  high  up  the  bank,  they  came  upon  a  small 
plateau  of  stone,  containing  one  solitary  building. 

It  was  small  and  cube-shaped,  built  of  large  rough- 
hewn  stones.  The  roof  was  flat  and  earthen,  like  the 
houses  of  the  village.  Narrow  apertures,  such  as  are 
seen  in  ancient  towers,  pierced  the  low  walls  at  intervals. 
It  was  a  Druse  tomb.  In  most  cases  a  Druse  burial- 
ground  consists  of  several  of  these  stone  structures,  which 
are  used  in  the  manner  of  family  vaults.  They  argue 
in  favour  of  this  mode  of  entombment  that  the  ground 
is  too  rocky  to  admit  of  graves  of  sufficient  depth  to 
keep  wolves  away  in  winter,  which  is  of  severe  character 
in  the  high  mountain  villages  of  the  Lebanon. 

The  bearers  deposited  the  coffin  in  the  path  beneath 
the  tomb,  and  then  withdrew  to  one  side  while  the 
sheikhs  and  relatives  of  the  deceased  gathered  round, 
bending  low  and  uttering  many  lamentations,  their  folded 
handkerchiefs  pressed  intermittently  to  their  eyes.  At 
intervals  came  from  the  bystanders  a  loud  refrain  in 
response. 


44 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 


Then  the  Sheikh -el-Akkal,  his  commanding  figure 
straightened  with  impressive  dignity,  repeated  loud  prayers 
in  which  he  extolled  the  virtues  of  the  departed  soul. 
His  oration  ended,  the  coffin  was  replaced  on  the  bier 
and  borne  with  cautious  steps  up  the  bank,  shifting  and 
insecure  to  the  foot  with  its  flinty  soil. 

In  the  side  of  the  tomb  there  was  a  low  opening 
from  which  a  big  rock  and  many  small  stones  had  been 
removed.  Now  the  ropes  were  unwound  from  the  coffin, 
which  was  then  slipped  with  noticeable  celerity  through 
the  low  entrance.  In  an  instant  the  rock  was  rolled 
into  its  former  position,  the  stones  piled  around  it 
filling  up  every  crevice,  until  the  place  of  entrance 
was  entirely  concealed. 

With  the  bearers  one  of  the  sheikhs  had  mounted 
to  the  plateau.  When  the  interment  was  over,  he  crossed 
to  the  heaped-up  stones,  and  crouching  on  the  ground, 
his  head  close  to  the  wall,  he  spoke  to  the  man  within, 
to  the  dead  body  which  would  never  again  be  seen 
by  these  his  fellow-sheikhs. 

This  was  the  purport  of  his  parting  message  : 

“  If  any  one  meets  you  in  the  land  of  your  new 
>  birth  and  asks  you  the  question  to  what  religion  you 
belong,  answer  that  you  are  of  the  Druse  religion,  the 
chief  of  Mohammed’s  religions.” 

When  he  rose  to  his  feet,  every  one  present  climbed 
the  bank.  Round  the  tomb  they  went  through  many 
genuflexions,  putting  their  hands  against  their  ears,  then 
bringing  them  together  again,  with  the  back  of  one 
hand  in  the  palm  of  the  other,  and  dropping  both  in 


The  Translation  of  the  Druse  Sheikh  45 

front,  while  they  declaimed  farewells  to  the  dead  with 
admixture  of  eulogistic  tribute  after  the  manner  of 
epitaphs.  During  this  general  speechification  the  im¬ 
posing  figure  of  the  Sheikh-el-Akkal  stood  black  and 
motionless  against  the  steely  glitter  of  the  rocks,  and 
then,  lifting  his  hands  with  solemn  gesture,  while  all 
pressed  the  handkerchief  of  ceremony  to  their  eyes,  he 
gave  utterance  to  the  peroration  of  the  burial  rites  with 
rhetorical  emphasis. 

At  the  conclusion  the  mourners  descended  the  slope 
and  grouped  themselves  on  the  ground,  when  the  mudir 
produced  a  paper,  which  he  handed  ceremoniously  to 
the  man  sitting  next  to  him.  This  paper,  which  was 
the  dead  man’s  will,  was  passed  on  by  every  man  to 
his  neighbour  until,  the  circle  completed,  it  returned 
to  the  mudir,  who  read  the  contents  aloud.  Silence 
greeted  the  disclosure,  though  later,  and  for  days  follow¬ 
ing,  discontent  and  rage  was  displayed  by  those  members 
of  the  family  whose  expectations  had  come  to  naught. 
The  whole  property  was  left  to  a  grand-nephew  of  the 
tender  age  of  six.  No  provision  was  made  for  the  aged 
sisters.  Nephews  who  had  anticipated  great  things  were 
blessed  respectively  with  the  magnificent  legacy  of  twenty- 
five  piastres,  a  sum  amounting  to  a  little  less  than 
five  shillings. 

After  the  reading  of  the  will,  the  men  got  up  from 
the  ground  and  circled  in  slow  procession  round  the 
spot  where  the  coffin  had  rested  in  the  pathway.  A 
few  interchanges  of  condolence  ensued,  accompanied  by 
the  wish  that  all  present  would  be  blessed  with  as  long 


46  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

a  life  as  the  deceased  had  enjoyed.  Then  the  black- 
robed  figures  retraced  their  steps  to  the  village,  while 
the  sun  blazed  fiercely  on  the  plateau  of  rock,  which 
bore  on  its  adamant  surface  the  humble  tenement  to  the 
number  of  whose  silent  inmates  had  been  admitted  a 
brother  Druse,  of  the  same  race,  of  the  same  mysterious 
faith. 

We  turned  our  back  on  the  blinding  rock,  and  lo  ! 
high  above  the  valley,  breaking  the  monotony  of 
empyrean  blue  that  had  been  pallid  with  quivering 
heat,  hovered  in  gracious  symbolism  large  white-bosomed 
clouds.  Born  of  the  sea  mist,  that  after  intense  heat 
envelops  the  coast  plains  and  floats  eastward  over  the 
purple  hills  of  the  distant  background,  these  were  fore¬ 
runners  of  the  refreshing  breeze  from  the  west. 

<c  Allah  hakh  !  ”  the  tongue  repeats,  while  the  eye 
travels  over  the  sublime  mountain-range,  then  casts 
a  parting  glance  on  the  sheikh’s  tomb,  “  Allah  hakh  ! 
for  He  bringeth  forth  the  living  out  of  the  dead  ;  and 
He  quickeneth  the  earth  after  it  hath  been  dead  ;  and 
in  like  manner  shall  ye  be  brought  forth  from  your 
graves.  Let  him,  therefore,  who  hopeth  to  meet  his 
«  God  work  a  righteous  work.  Allah  hakh  !  ” 


CHAPTER  IV 


VISITS  OF  CEREMONY  AND  A  PERENNIAL 

CUSTOM 


A  VISIT  of  ceremony  paid  by  the  British  Consul 
and  his  wife  to  some  neighbouring  villages 
had  many  points  of  interest.  One  charming  considera¬ 
tion  in  making  plans  in  advance  was  the  uniformity  of 
the  fine  weather.  With  the  exception  of  an  occasional 
sirocco,  there  was  little  variation  in  the  wonderful 
days  of  that  perfect  Syrian  summer.  So  in  arranging 
the  date  of  an  expedition  of  this  kind,  there  were  no 
doubtful  glances  at  the  sky  and  barometer,  for  every 
one  knew  the  weather  would  do  exactly  what  was  ex¬ 
pected  of  it. 

Again  I  had  the  pleasure  of  accompanying  the  Consul’s 
wife.  The  Consul  and  the  men  of  his  party  rode  over 
the  hill  through  the  vineyards,  while  the  carriage,  as 
usual,  went  round  by  the  road,  the  cavass  all  resplendent, 
and  sword  girded,  in  his  ordinary  post  on  the  box 
by  the  coachman. 

It  was  a  beautiful  drive  right  through  the  valley  of  the 
Baruk,  and  beyond  Baruk  itself  to  a  village  called  Betelun, 
where  one  of  the  visits  was  to  be  made.  The  sound  of 
gun-shots  reaching  us  from  afar  announced  the  arrival 

47 


48  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

of  the  Consul’s  party  ;  we  were  near  enough  to  see 
the  smoke  from  the  discharged  muskets  curling  over¬ 
head.  But  in  making  such  calls  of  ceremony  there  is 
much  precedent  observed,  and  it  was  quite  out  of  the 
question  that  the  honour  of  the  opening  visit  should 
be  bestowed  upon  this  first  village  in  our  way.  Etiquette 
demanded  that  the  village  of  Kafrnabrakh  should  head 
the  list  in  the  order  of  calling,  and  we  approached  Betelun 
just  in  time  to  see  the  Consul’s  white  Arab  vanishing  in 
the  distance,  while  the  black-robed  Druses,  in  their  turbans 
of  snowy  whiteness,  lined  the  roadside  several  deep. 

Between  these  ranks  the  carriage  had  to  pass.  To 
the  incessant  crackling  of  muskets,  the  barrels  pointed 
skyward,  the  spirited  thoroughbreds,  held  in  firm  grip 
by  the  coachman,  galloped  by,  not  nervously,  but  in 
thorough  sympathy  with  the  wild  vigour  of  the  scene. 
On  to  the  other  village  we  were  borne  swiftly,  nearly 
overtaking  the  riders,  who  halted  on  the  road  in  front 
of  Kafrnabrakh,  which  stood  a  little  distance  away. 

The  honoured  visitors  had  been  expected  by  the 
villagers  to  arrive  by  another  route,  so  that  all  of 
them  were  assembled  together  at  a  distant  spot  in  view, 
instead  of  near  the  carriage  road.  However,  we  were 
scarcely  out  of  the  carriage  before  a  whole  crowd  of 
women  came  flocking  over  the  stones  from  the  village, 
their  long  white  veils  streaming  behind  them  like  festive 
banners,  and  followed  by  a  train  of  Druse-clad  manly 
figures,  who  came  running  helter-skelter  to  the  spot, 
musket  in  hand. 

Lady  Drummond  Hay  was  at  once  seized  by  willing, 


49 


Visits  of  Ceremony 

too  helpful  hands,  on  both  sides,  and  conveyed  almost 
bodily  over  the  rugged,  stony  ground.  In  the  same 
manner  the  women  pounced  upon  me — alas  !  the  purple 
evidence  of  the  fervour  of  their  grip  remained  for 
days  as  testimony  to  the  fervour  of  their  welcome — 
while  our  Consul  was  right  royally  escorted  by  scores 
of  stately,  wild-eyed  Druse  men.  At  last  we  approached 
the  clustering  houses,  and  there  again  in  the  narrow 
way  between  the  walls  were  rows  and  double  rows  of 
armed  men. 

Again  the  muskets  were  fired  right  and  left  into 
the  air  as  we  passed  between,  while  copious  sprinkling 
of  scented  water  was  energetically  bestowed  by  the 
women,  who  also  flourished  the  censers  and  greeted  us 
with  continuous  ululations  of  joy  as  we  entered  the 
court  and  then  the  house  of  the  headman,  or  chief 
sheikh  of  the  village.  As  many  men  as  could  possibly 
crowd  into  the  room  of  reception  did  so.  There  were 
handsome  rugs  on  the  floor,  seats  for  the  guests,  and 
mattresses  for  the  residential  visitors.  The  sheikh 
was  the  only  man  who  sat  on  a  chair,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Consul,  his  wife,  and  their  party. 

Around  this  central  group  of  state  were  massed  the 
thronging  villagers.  But  not  a  woman  was  among  them, 
though  their  voices  were  only  too  insistent  and  deafening 
in  utterance  of  the  joy-cries  outside  the  room ;  and  the 
open  shutters  revealed  them  in  person  through  iron 
bars,  hovering  in  excitement  round  every  corner  of  the 
house.  The  usual  rose-coloured  syrups  were  handed 
round  on  a  tray,  with  small  towels  as  serviettes  ;  and 

7 


VOL.  i 


5° 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

then  appeared  the  sweet  Oriental  confections  that  are 
made  from  fruit.  These  refreshments  having  been  duly 
served  and  the  trays  withdrawn,  one  of  the  assembly 
stepped  forward  holding  a  large  sheet  of  manuscript 
in  his  hand. 

Then  and  there  he  delivered  a  long  and  flowery 
address  to  the  praise  and  glorification  of  their  favourite 
Consul,  in  metaphor  comparing  his  innumerable  ex¬ 
cellent  and  attractive  qualities  to  apparently  everything 
in  the  heavens  and  upon  the  earth,  beginning  with  the 
sun,  moon,  and  all  the  stars,  proceeding  to  the  greatness 
and  dignity  of  Mount  Hermon,  and  winding  up  with 
a  delicate  allusion  to  the  gazelle.  Unfortunately  a 
limited  knowledge  of  Arabic  hinders  a  more  graphic 
and  detailed  rendering  of  the  rare  imagery  of  that  fervid 
oration.  Suffice  it  to  say,  however,  that  the  people 
of  the  Lebanon,  of  whatever  community,  appeared  to 
be  devotedly  attached  to  our  British  Consul,  and  this 
was  one  of  the  ways  in  which  they  made  endeavour 
to  prove  their  appreciation  of  the  consistent  tact,  dignity, 
and  kindliness  with  which  they  were  ever  treated  by  him. 

Directly  the  recitative  had  come  to  an  end  a  small  boy 
of  twelve  hastily  sprang  to  the  front  out  of  the  midst  of 
the  crowd.  Holding  his  paper  at  arm’s  length  extended 
in  front  of  him,  he  threw  out  the  other  hand  with 
dramatic  gesture,  and  began  to  shout  his  address  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  He  was  a  highly  picturesque  little 
fellow  with  the  red  turban  pressed  down  upon  his 
head,  his  capacious  pantaloons,  and  gay  little  zouave 
embroidered  in  gold  thread. 


Visits  of  Ceremony  51 

After  this  came  the  usual  coffee  at  the  end  of  the 
visit,  and  a  little  conversation  concerning  a  feud  in 
existence  between  the  two  chief  families  of  the  hamlet. 
The  Consul  signified  his  desire  that  the  conflicting 
parties  should  be  reconciled  ;  in  that  case  he  would 
also  confer  the  honour  of  a  visit  upon  the  other  house, 
but  would  expect  his  present  host,  the  sheikh,  to 
accompany  him  in  order  to  hear  that  the  feud  was  at 
an  end.  Many  protestations  mingled  with  ceremonious 
interchange  of  the  usual  compliments  of  speech  followed, 
and  finally  the  visit  was  agreed  upon. 

Thereupon  we  rose  and  were  invited  to  mount  a 
few  steps  to  an  inner  room  where  was  a  table  laid  out 
with  fruit — figs,  nuts,  grapes,  and  peaches — but  the 
chief  feature  of  that  small  upper  chamber  consisted  of 
the  stone  balcony  upon  which  it  opened  out.  One 
characteristic  of  the  Druse  race  lies  in  their  propensity 
for  inhabiting,  and  especially  for  erecting  their  places  of 
worship,  on  the  most  elevated  spots  of  their  highland 
haunts.  From  this  balcony  was  to  be  seen  one  of 
the  finest  views  of  its  kind  that  I  saw  in  the  whole 
Lebanon.  Sheer  down  from  the  stone  balustrade  the 
precipice  dropped  to  a  vast  chasm,  of  which  the  mere 
immensity  and  depth  caused  one  to  thrill  with  wonder 
and  fear.  On  the  towering  mountain  walls  which  looked 
down  upon  it  from  the  opposite  side  were  little  hamlets, 
dotted  here  and  there  on  precipitous  slopes  and  crags, 
many  a  one  in  a  site  as  precarious  to  the  outlook  as 
an  eagle’s  eyrie.  Pines  and  dark  underwood  of  every 
variety  mingled  with  the  shady  slopes  and  scrambled 


52  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

down  to  the  distant  depths  which  gave  evidence  of  the 
flowing  stream  by  the  wild  luxuriance  of  rich  green 

This  wadi,  lying  fifteen  hundred  feet  below  our 
gaze,  was  the  continuation  of  the  wadi  of  Ainzahalta. 
The  river  was  the  Damur,  the  same  of  which  we  had 
traced  several  sources  to  their  springs.  What  I  did  not 
hear  until  later  was  that  the  imposing  cliffs  of  this  wadi 
are  subject  to  slides  as  disastrous  as  many  an  Alpine 
avalanche.  A  village  had  once  stood  on  the  brink  of 
this  same  abyss  which  fascinated  our  gaze,  of  the  same 
name  as  the  village  we  were  visiting.  Suddenly  the 
whole  terrace  crowded  with  human  habitations  parted 
from  the  mountains  and  plunged  into  the  depths,  only 
one  person  surviving  the  catastrophe  and  losing  his 
reason  from  the  shock. 

We  partook  of  the  luscious  fruit  and  then  came 
away  from  the  sheikh’s  house,  escorted  and  guided  on 
all  sides,  the  guns  discharging  with  the  same  chaotic 
irregularity  and  suddenness  at  every  step  until  we 
approached  the  dwelling-place  of  the  second  chief  man 
of  the  village.  Here  awaited  us  the  same  manner  of 
reception  and  refreshment  with  washing  of  hands  in 
the  customary  manner  with  the  ewer.  There  were  two 
addresses  again  delivered  in  the  thronged  room,  and 
then  ensued  the  scene  of  reconciliation  between  the 
heads  of  the  respective  families. 

In  like  manner  as  we  had  been  assisted  from  the 
carriage  to  the  houses,  so  now  we  were  conveyed  with 
magnified  vehemence  of  action  and  song  over  the  stones 


Visits  of  Ceremony  53 

and  hillocks  back  to  the  high-road.  The  riders  followed 
the  carriage,  but  before  reaching  the  village  of  Betelun, 
through  which  we  had  passed  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  we 
had  to  wait,  for  it  would  have  been  an  outrage  on 
etiquette  for  the  ladies  of  the  party  to  precede  and 
not  follow  the  Consul.  Again  came  the  outbreak  of 
firing,  and  then  we  alighted  by  the  wayside,  though 
making  quick  discovery  that  the  villagers  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  make  a  special  road  to  the  chief  house,  in 
which  the  honours  were  to  be  dispensed.  The  Consul’s 
wife,  with  her  customary  tact  and  gracious  manner, 
ordered  her  coachman  to  follow  us,  in  spite  of  the 
roughness  of  the  new  track.  On  the  return  we  got 
into  the  carriage  just  outside  the  house  and  jolted  and 
bumped  over  the  road  they  had  prepared  to  honour 
the  visit.  It  was  another  ocular  demonstration  of  the 
ancient  custom  to  which  I  have  already  alluded  in 
connection  with  the  German  Emperor’s  travels  in  the 
Holy  Land. 

Here  there  came  a  change  in  the  method  of  enter¬ 
tainment.  This  was  a  house  with  divans  lining  the 
walls  of  the  room  of  state,  but  its  limited  capacity 
obliged  even  the  host  and  the  numerous  visitors  of  his 
own  village  to  remain  outside.  After  partaking  of 
sherbet  and  coffee  we  were,  in  consequence  of  the  lack 
of  accommodation  for  such  an  assemblage,  escorted  to 
a  wide  stone  terrace,  which  was  carpeted  and  provided 
with  chairs  for  the  ceremony  of  delivering  the  various 
addresses.  A  picturesque  national  dance,  performed  by 
a  group  of  the  men,  followed,  and  then  we  were  requested 


54 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

to  enter  another  room,  where  a  sumptuously  laid-out 
table  presented  itself  to  our  astonished  gaze.  Delicacies 
rich  and  rare  were  spread  out  in  the  shape  of  sweatmeats 
of  every  variety,  bought  in  Damascus  and  conveyed 
there  specially  for  this  valued  occasion.  For  these  visits 
of  ceremony  are  announced  in  advance  in  order  that 
the  necessary  etiquette  may  be  carried  out,  and  that 
every  one  who  ought  to  be  present  should  have  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  making  arrangements  to  that  end.  This 
was  the  final  visit  that  day.  At  last  we  made  our 
adieux,  got  into  the  carriage,  and  this  time,  followed 
by  the  Consul’s  party,  set  out  for  home. 

The  life  of  the  peasants  in  one  village  of  the  Lebanon 
was  a  sample  of  the  village  life  generally,  varied  by 
the  special  industry  which  locality  and  climate  combined 
to  make  most  diligently  cultivated.  When  the  silk 
culture  was  first  started  in  Syria,  and  the  plantation  of 
the  white-fruited  mulberry-trees  ( Morus  alba)  necessary 
to  its  practice,  is  doubtful,  but  we  know  that  the 
Romans  had  silk  fabrics  from  Berytus  (Beyrout)  and 
Tyre.  The  industry  is  alluded  to  frequently  in  records 
of  crusading  times,  and  in  the  Middle  Ages  had  been 
of  long  standing  in  the  land. 

The  feeding  of  the  silkworms  with  the  mulberry 
requires  experience — that  is  to  say,  special  training  and 
close  observation.  Both  leaves  and  worms  are  placed 
on  shallow  wide  trays  or  shelves,  which  mount  one 
above  the  other  in  tiers,  lining  the  walls  of  the  shed 
or  special  building  devoted  to  their  culture. 

The  foliage  of  the  mulberry-trees  was  also  put  to 


A  DRUSE  WITH  HIS  SILK-WORM  COCOONS 


' 

- 


A  Perennial  Custom 


55 


another  use,  which  requires  a  little  explanation.  Soon 
after  our  arrival  in  the  village  we  were  particularly 
struck  by  an  idyllic  feature  of  the  honest,  independent 
life  led  by  these  hardy  mountaineers.  Every  household 
appeared  to  have  a  pet  in  the  shape  of  a  snow-white, 
well-favoured  lamb,  upon  which  the  whole  family  set 
great  store.  In  every  court,  or  at  every  threshold,  was 
tethered  this  household  pet.  What  was  still  more 
remarkable,  the  creature  was  always  being  fed — fed  to 
repletion,  for  when  it  ceased  to  eat  of  its  own  accord, 
whichever  member  of  the  family  chanced  to  be  at 
hand  made  haste  to  tempt  it  to  continue  to  eat  by  every 
art  of  persuasion  or  force. 

There  could  have  been  no  sweeter  picture  of  simple- 
minded  devotion  to  the  nurture  of  pet  lambs  than  was 
presented  to  the  sight  from  the  balcony  of  our  little 
hotel.  The  blue-gowned  Druse  women,  shrouded  in 
their  white  veils,  sat  on  the  ground  in  the  shadow  of 
their  house-walls,  the  lambs  standing  meekly  before 
them,  and  at  their  side  a  great  sack  or  basket  choke-full 
of  mulberry-leaves.  As  fast  as  the  animals’  jaws  could 
crunch  and  chew  the  crisp,  fresh  foliage,  the  women 
thrust  a  new  supply  into  their  mouths. 

The  lambs  seemed  to  grow  visibly  before  our  eyes, 
very  quickly  developing  into  fine  young  sheep.  Twice 
every  day  they  were  led  by  their  mistresses  to  the  fountain 
by  the  roadside,  where  they  were  given  to  drink  of  the 
running  spring,  and  their  white  fleeces,  with  the  extra¬ 
ordinary  tail  from  twelve  to  fourteen  inches  broad, 
drenched  with  the  outpouring  of  several  buckets  of  water. 


56  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

As  time  advanced,  this  daily  scene  spread  out  before 
our  eyes,  that,  at  first,  had  seemed  some  sweet  pastoral 
survival  of  patriarchal  customs,  afforded  less  pleasure  in 
contemplation  than  uneasiness  and  even  dismay,  for  the 
pastime  of  feeding  the  pet  sheep  began  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning  and-  was  diligently  persevered  in  till  the 
last  thing  at  night.  The  sheep  waxed  so  fat  and 
cumbrous  that  no  longer  could  they  stand  to  be  fed, 
but  lay  with  panting  side  on  the  ground,  the  head 
pressed  against  a  woman’s  knee,  while  she  held  its  mouth 
firmly  in  one  hand,  and  stuffed  bunch  after  bunch  of 
green  leaves  sideways  between  the  teeth.  And  all  the 
time  that  the  women  sat  stuffing  the  sheep  they  talked 
incessantly  among  themselves,  children  ran  races  over 
the  stones,  chickens  scrambled  for  bits,  the  donkeys 
switched  their  tales  under  a  booth  of  dried  twigs,  and 
men  passed  to  and  fro,  or  squatted  smoking  on  their 
roof-tops  and  the  edge  of  the  bank. 

There  came  a  day  when  the  panting,  groaning  sheep 
could  no  longer  be  half  carried,  half  pushed,  to  be 
watered  and  washed  at  the  spring.  It  was  a  day  of 
sacrifice  when,  for  the  sustenance  of  human  life  in  the 
bleak  winters  of  the  highland  villages,  the  sheep  was  led 
to  the  slaughter.  The  inhabitants  have  an  ancient  yet 
ever-new  method  of  preserving  the  dissected  animal 
with  salt  and  spices  in  large  jars,  covering  the  whole 
with  the  enormous  supply  of  fat  from  the  tail,  and 
sealing  the  jars  for  winter  use.  The  process  of  stuffing 
the  victims  for  long  weeks  in  advance  is  a  perennial 
custom  in  the  districts  of  Lebanon. 


A  Perennial  Custom 


57 


In  speaking  of  Druse  women,  who  sat  constantly  in 
the  open  air,  often  unveiled,  unless  the  approach  of 
a  strange  man  obliged  a  momentary  withdrawal  of  the 
face,  I  must  not  omit  to  say  that  the  Druses  of  the 
higher  class,  well  born,  and  often  bearing  names  of  great 
antiquity,  are  very  strict  in  their  notions  of  womanly 
seclusion.  There  were  Druse  ladies  even  in  that  village 
who  were  never  seen  outside  the  court  or  garden  of 
their  own  dwelling.  The  younger  the  wife  the  more 
rigid  the  restraint  which  kept  her  fresh  young  life 
concealed  between  walls,  <c  a  spring  shut  up,  a  fountain 
sealed  ”  from  all  the  world  outside. 

Some  of  the  oldest  families,  dating  farther  back 
than  any  of  what  are  called  our  aristocratic  families, 
are  now  very  poor.  The  continual  party  struggles 
of  the  Jambelat,  Shehaab,  and  other  powerful  noble 
houses,  for  quite  two  centuries,  when  first  one  of  the 
great  emirs  gained  the  ascendancy  and  then  the  other, 
reduced  many  of  them  to  poverty.  To-day  the  number  of 
decadent  princes  of  the  Lebanon  is  astounding,  also 
the  straits  into  which  some  of  the  present  representative 
heads  of  these  houses  constantly  drop,  but  the  feeling 
of  noblesse  oblige  is  still  very  strong  among  their  fellow- 
countrymen.  A  Syrian  gentleman  who  was  travelling 
near  Beyrout  entered  into  conversation  with  the  driver 
of  his  carriage,  and  asked  him  his  name. 

“  Get  down,”  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  name, 
“  and  come  into  the  carriage  with  me.  My  grandfather 
used  to  be  your  grandfather’s  coachman.” 

And  this  is  only  one  of  a  score  of  such  incidents  of 

8 


VOL.  I 


58  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

frequent  occurrence,  though  once  the  polish  of  education 
has  added  the  glamour  of  outward  refinement  to  the 
pre-eminently  handsome  figures  and  physiognomy  of 
the  Syrians,  they  are  not  to  be  distinguished  from  those 
of  high  rank.  Instances  came  to  my  knowledge  of 
men  of  humble  origin  in  the  Lebanon  and  other  parts 
of  Syria  who  have  received  a  good  education  under 
the  many  advantages  afforded  by  the  foreign  missions, 
and  then  passed  themselves  off  in  England  or  France 
as  princes  of  noble  family,  their  portraits  even  appearing 
as  such  in  illustrated  papers.  To  people  who  are  well 
acquainted  with  the  correct  costumes  of  these  high 
personages  the  deception  is  evident  at  once. 

In  one  case  where  a  Lebanon  emir  was  the  character 
assumed,  the  costume  was  made  up  of  the  gala  garments 
worn  by  people  of  different  status  in  the  Lebanon. 
There  were  the  full-skirted  pantaloons,  and  the  red 
fez,  with  a  zouave  coat,  such  as  is  worn  by  the 
military-looking  cavasses  of  the  consuls,  and  a  wonderful 
belt  stuck  round  with  pistols  and  daggers  galore. 

Fortunately  these  are  exceptional  cases. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  SPRING  OF  REFRESHMENT 


SOLEMNITY  and  silence  were  embodied  in  the 
great  sweeping  stretches  of  mountain-range  and 
precipitous  slopes  as  the  eye  glanced  upward  from  the 
road  intersecting  the  valley  bed.  Over  the  Atlantean 
flanks  and  height  was  flung  a  mantle  of  grey  and  brown, 
embroidered  with  rich  reds,  and  embossed  with  irregular 
masses  of  iridescent  silvery  shades.  Here  and  there 
stood  out  blotches  of  vivid  green  in  strong  relief,  “  the 
cheerful  colour  ”  that  maintains  the  balance  of  contrast 
and  harmony  necessary  to  render  the  contemplation  of 
natural  scenery  gratifying  to  the  sense  of  beauty. 

A  mental  sensation  of  insignificance  was  involuntary 
as  the  eye  uplifted  to  the  rugged  hill-crowns,  veiled 
by  the  passage  of  stately  clouds,  which  seemed  to  dip  in 
salutation  to  the  aspiring  earth-peaks.  Near  the  summits 
all  was  stony,  yet  austerely  grand  and  imposing.  At 
the  base  of  the  hills  were  spaces  of  verdure  redeemed 
by  husbandry  from  the  shaly  slopes  ;  here  a  plantation 
of  young  pines,  and  there  terraces  of  mulberry-trees. 

And  now  there  came  a  fissure  in  the  mountain-wall 
to  the  right  of  the  road,  broad  enough  at  the  mouth 
to  enclose  an  orchard  of  the  same  prolific  mulberry 

59 


6o 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

growth,  and  contracting  at  its  far  extremity  into  a  jagged 
aperture  stretching  the  whole  length  of  the  cliff-side, 
from  which  in  winter  would  leap  riotously  the  waters 
of  a  mountain  torrent.  Now,  in  the  height  of  summer¬ 
time,  the  rugged  lips  were  parched,  yielding  no  outward 
trace  of  the  little  hidden  spring,  which,  at  the  base  of 
the  rock,  gave  verdant  life  to  that  mountain  retreat. 

We  turned  aside  from  the  road  to  investigate  its 
secret  charm,  trod  lightly  the  cloddy  soil,  brown  madder 
in  hue,  that  spread  between  the  dwarfed  battalions  of 
glossy  leaved  mulberry-trees.  The  precipitous  barrier 
on  either  side  shelved  upward  rock  upon  rock,  pinnacle 
upon  pinnacle,  intermingled  with  patches  of  shaly  ascent. 
Groups  of  green-crested  pines  decorated  the  craggy 
eminences.  Sage-green  blotches  of  scrub,  and  grey 
sun-shrivelled  herbage  lurked  in  the  crevices  of  the 
rocks,  or  rambled  over  the  spaces  of  thirsty  soil. 

The  head  of  the  glen  was  clear  and  open  to  the  sun. 
The  trickling  water  of  the  rock-spring  forced  its  way 
through  an  entanglement  of  willow  and  bramble  foliage, 
growing  in  abandon  at  the  foot  of  the  precipitous  cliff. 
A  tiny  brook  wandered  from  the  pool  beneath  the  bushes, 
hollowing  its  course  between  the  orchard  and  hillside 
to  the  road  in  the  valley  we  had  left  behind.  Three 
long-limbed  willows,  mature  and  strong,  with  knotty, 
twisted  trunks  and  vigorous  foliage,  marked  the  exodus 
of  the  vagrant  waters  from  the  parent  pool.  Between 
these  trees  and  the  source  stretched  a  carpet  of  young 
grass. 

Beyond  the  green,  lifting  towards  the  turquoise  sky 


The  Spring  of  Refreshment  61 

a  tranquil  face,  and  fed  likewise  by  the  mountain  spring, 
lay  a  drinking-pond  for  the  goats  of  the  rocky  pasture, 
embedded  between  steep  banks.  Minerals  in  the  water 
had  stained  the  rocks  overhanging  the  spring  with  a 
sunset  gamut  of  colour,  roving  from  saffron  to  brilliant 
orange,  from  rose-pink  to  rich  Indian  red.  Against  this 
variegated  background  rested  sprays  of  maidenhair  ferns, 
the  black  stems  and  bared  roots  imparting,  by  force  of 
contrast,  a  peculiar  dainty  freshness  to  the  emerald 
fronds. 

Looking  back  from  the  shadow  of  the  willows,  the 
range  of  hills  stretching  across  the  base  of  the  glen,  yet 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley,  looked  like  a  gigantic 
wall  barring  the  exit.  Against  the  deep  blue  of  the 

Syrian  sky  an  extreme  delicacy  was  imparted  to  the 

steely  grey  of  its  outlined  ridge.  The  stones,  and  rock 
debris,  scattered  down  the  steep  slopes,  as  if  hurled  into 
chaotic  masses  by  some  Cyclopean  battle  of  a  forgotten 
age,  looked  like  lichen  of  giant  growth,  tinted  with 

silvery  hues  of  lavender  and  metallic  lustre  of  blue  and 
grey. 

Suddenly  an  alien  though  sympathetic  note  of  sound 
stirred  the  silent  atmosphere  :  it  was  the  clear,  resonant 
tinkling  of  a  bell.  Its  clang  came  from  the  heights 

facing  the  willows,  and  in  another  moment  over  the 
brow  of  the  tallest  peak  there  appeared,  black  and  con¬ 
spicuous,  the  bearded  head  and  form  of  a  large  goat. 
It  was  the  haughty,  self-possessed  bell-wether  of  a  flock 
of  many  scores  of  goats  that  crowded  with  quickening 
steps  in  his  rear  over  the  ridge,  and  then  scattered  in 


62 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 


frantic  speed  down  the  craggy  steep  into  the  glen  to 
drink  of  the  water  they  scented  from  afar. 

Silhouetted  against  the  sky,  a  prominent  figure  until 
the  last  of  the  flock  had  passed  over  the  ridge,  the 
goatherd  remained  stationary  on  the  height.  With 
free,  swinging  step  the  young  David  of  the  Lebanon 
descended  the  hill,  the  long  crook  swinging  from  his 
hand,  the  massive  head  of  a  dagger,  his  weapon  of 
defence  against  attack  of  wolves  or  bears  on  his  flock, 
protruding  from  the  tightly  girded  sash  round  his 
loins.  Ringing  with  colour,  the  Syrian  garb  well 
became  the  warm-toned  face,  flashing,  hawk-like  eyes 
and  pronounced  profile.  A  scarlet  turban  was  wound 
round  the  dark  head.  Over  a  shirt  of  nondescript 
shades  hung  a  sleeveless  abbai,  striped  crimson  and 
gold.  The  full  pantaloons  of  blue  descended  to  leather 
gaiters  ;  on  his  feet  he  wore  the  flat-pointed  shoe 
of  the  Syrian. 

The  goats  crowded  round  the  pool  and  drank 
greedily.  The  delicate  members  of  the  flock  were  fed 
by  the  hands  of  two  sun-bronzed  lads,  underlings  of 
the  goatherd.  In  the  moment  that  thirst  was  quenched 
the  sage-visaged  creatures  moved  away  from  the  water 
and  wandered  up  and  between  the  rocks,  grouping 
themselves  in  statuesque  attitudes  in  the  shade  of  a 
boulder  larger  than  its  fellows,  on  the  extreme  ledge 
of  a  steep  bank,  or  posing  in  rigid  solitude  like  sentinels 
on  the  brow  of  some  prominent  head-rock.  A  detach¬ 
ment  climbed  higher  afield  to  a  thin  plantation  of 
pines,  where  they  stood  sleepily  against  the  trunks,  or 


The  Spring  of  Refreshment  63 

lay  on  the  needle-strewn  soil  with  indolent  ease  in 
any  morsel  of  shade  that  yielded  respite  from  the  glare 
and  heat  of  the  noontide  hour.  With  brilliant  light 
striking  down  between  the  green  crests  of  the  pine 
branches,  the  black  fleeces  against  the  cool  grey  shadows 
were  of  the  texture  of  velvet  toned  to  the  deepest 
purple. 

The  goatherd  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  willows,  put 
his  hand  within  his  tunic  and  raised  to  his  lips  a  cluster 
of  Pandean  pipes.  The  scene  was  complete  and  motion¬ 
less,  as  if  waiting  the  romantic  entrance  of  a  com¬ 
plementary  Sulamith  to  this  orchard  of  Arcady,  watered 
by  a  living  spring  from  the  heart  of  Libanus.  Would 
she  appear  with  the  timorous  footfall  of  a  young  gazelle 
between  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  her  long  white  veil 
drawn  timidly  over  her  face,  allowing  the  mellow  lantern 
of  one  dark  eye  to  shine  forth  in  search  of  him  whom 
her  soul  loveth  ? 

Has  her  watching  heart  already  heard  the  plaintive 
piping  of  Pan’s  music  from  the  distant  hill,  and  into 
the  melody  woven  the  words,  “  O  thou  fairest  among 
women,  go  thy  way  forth  by  the  footsteps  of  the  flock 
and  feed  the  kids  beside  the  shepherd’s  tents  ”  ? 

And  will  she  make  response  in  note  of  sweet  distress 
and  entreaty,  as  each  descending  foot-trip  brings  her 
nearer  to  the  garden  enclosed  ? 

“  Tell  me,  O  thou  whom  my  soul  loveth,  where 
thou  feedest,  where  thou  makest  thy  flock  to  rest  at 
noon  :  why  should  I  be  as  one  that  is  veiled  by  the 
flocks  of  thy  companions  ?  ” 


64  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

But  the  only  sound  that  carried  down  from  the 
sun-laved  peaks  was  the  tinkling  clang  of  a  second 
bell,  and  in  another  moment  the  breathless  solitude 
was  again  broken  by  the  down-rush  of  another  flock  of 
goats  in  numbers  excelling  the  first.  The  visionary 
scene  from  the  idyll  of  love,  that  is  endowed  with  the 
secret  of  perpetual  life  by  the  alchemy  of  eastern  sunlight, 
was  instantly  blotted  out. 

This  was  the  Golden  Age  of  Saturn  !  Pan  sat 
under  the  trees,  and  his  satyrs  were  hastening  to  the 
trysting-place  of  the  sylvan  deities  in  readiness  for 
the  forthcoming  revels.  With  what  fever  of  thirst 
they  thrust  their  faces  into  the  pool  of  invitation, 
and  shook  the  dripping  moisture  from  their  shimmering 
beards  ! 

The  demon  of  unrest  drove  them  hither  and  thither, 
up  the  rocks,  down  the  glen,  over  the  grass  eagerly 
scenting,  boldly  inquiring,  while  the  respective  goatherds 
cried  to  their  dogs  in  angry  impatience,  as  each  strove 
to  hinder  by  hot  pursuit  the  confusing  of  one  flock 
with  the  other.  At  the  end  of  a  scene  of  wildest 
confusion  the  latest  comers  were  driven  into  a  massed 
foregathering  on  the  opposite  slope,  where  they  likewise, 
as  did  the  first  flock,  subsided  into  recumbent  postures 
of  slumberous  ease,  forming  a  glittering  carpet  of  black 
outspread  on  a  sandstone  floor. 

The  goatherds  and  youths  made  a  brilliant  circle 
of  colour  under  the  willows,  with  primitive  food  of 
the  ancients  set  out  before  them.  They  tore  into 
finger-shreds  the  round  cakes  of  flat  native  bread^ 


The  Spring  of  Refreshment  65 

and  dipped  these  into  a  cup  of  love,  consisting  of  a 
bowl  of  foaming  milk  freshly  drawn  from  a  protesting 
unit  of  the  herd.  Grapes,  transparently  gold  and 
green,  picked  from  a  neighbouring  vineyard,  completed 
a  meal  that  would  have  reflected  no  discredit  on  Spartan 
asceticism  or  the  refined  palates  of  the  dwellers  on 
Parnassus. 

The  spirit  of  fancy,  evoked  by  contemplation  of  the 
satyr-faced  beasts,  examined  the  network  of  symbolism 
which  holds  the  name  and  image  of  the  goat  imprisoned 
as  closely  as  the  cocoon  of  the  silkworm  encloses  the 
chrysalis.  The  fauns  and  satyrs,  half  goats,  half  men, 
were  attendants  on  Bacchus,  god  of  vineyards,  which 
nowhere  bear  more  tender  grapes,  yielding  a  goodly 
smell,  than  in  the  hills  of  Lebanon  and  the  fertile  places 
of  Palestine,  where  flocks  of  goats  abound  in  their  tens 
of  thousands.  Pan  himself,  the  patron  of  shepherds, 
the  god  of  flocks  and  herds,  is  represented  with  goats’ 
legs,  and  two  horns  on  his  head.  Beelzebub,  the 
Philistine  god  of  flies,  figures  in  symbolism  as  a  goat, 
and  in  tradition  the  evil  element,  all  that  is  of 
Mephistophelean  nature,  is  accounted  goat-like. 

No  fitter  setting  for  a  Walpurgis  Night  could  be 
found  than  this  same  glen  with  the  countless  symbols 
of  the  element  of  evil,  half  human,  half  bestial,  crowding 
the  rocks  and  banks  which  were  themselves  cast  by 
Nature’s  moulding  in  grotesque  and  phantasmagoric  con¬ 
fusion.  And  if  the  introduction  of  evil  into  a  universe 
planned  to  good  alone  opened  a  door  through  which 
Sorrow  crept  into  the  world,  surely  a  light  is  thrown 

9 


VOL.  1 


66 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

upon  the  derivation  of  the  word  <c  tragedy,  ”  or 
tragcedia ,  and  also  suggests  the  fundamental  reason  why 
a  goat  should  have  been  the  prize  of  the  tragic  choirs 
of  ancient  Greece. 

The  seal  to  the  symbolism  attached  to  goats  handed 
down  by  tradition  seems  to  have  been  given  through 
the  Divine  mouthpiece,  which  affirmed,  “  And  He  shall 
set  the  sheep  on  His  right  hand  but  the  goats  on  the 
left.”  Words  that  perpetuate  the  mandate  of  the  Judaic 
dispensation  :  “  The  goat  shall  bear  upon  him  all  their 
iniquities  into  a  land  not  inhabited,  and  he  shall  let  go 
the  goat  in  the  wilderness.” 

The  scapegoat  for  the  sins  of  others  ! 

Yet  still  the  sun  streams  its  rays  on  the  velvet  fleeces, 
the  thirst  of  the  goat  has  been  quenched.  Happiness,  or 
at  least  a  neutral  contentment,  lulls  the  descendants  of 
the  scapegoat  into  tolerance  of  their  lot. 


CHAPTER  VI 


A  SECRET  RELIGION 

RELIGION  has  created  between  the  Syrians  of  the 
Lebanon  a  gulf  of  separation  as  impassable  as 
many  of  the  deep  ravines  which  yawn  between  the 
precipitous  mountain-cliffs  of  their  beautiful  highlands. 
A  certain  number  of  the  villages  crowning  the  craggy 
summits,  clinging  to  the  sunny  slopes,  or  nestling  on 
vine-bedecked  foot-hills,  are  inhabited  exclusively  by 
Syrians  who  belong  either  to  one  religious  sect  or  the 
other  ;  but  there  are  also  many  villages  and  whole 
districts  where  people  of  conflicting  creeds  live  together 
in  peace,  though  the  condition  of  peace  may,  nevertheless, 
be  better  described  as  one  of  armed  neutrality  which 
the  simplest  of  quarrels  is  cause  sufficing  to  convert  to 
open  warfare. 

Of  these  various  religious  sects  and  people,  divided, 
broadly  speaking,  into  Druses  and  Maronites  (who  are 
again  subdivided),  it  is  the  Druses  who  provoke  inquiry 
and  pique  curiosity.  It  is  not  so  much  a  question  of 
their  original  personality  or  simple  yet  distinctive  garb 
as  the  fact  that  they  are  a  people  who  possess  a  secret 
religion  that  was  absolutely  unfathomable  and  a  mystery 

to  all  outsiders  for  eight  hundred  years. 

67 


68 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

It  is  a  religion  that  has  always  been  a  subject  of 
curious  inquiry.  People  have  even  risked  their  lives 
in  making  attempts  to  intrude  into  the  secret  meetings 
of  the  Druses.  It  was  only  the  plundering  of  their 
khalweh  (the  places  of  worship)  during  the  conquest  of 
Syria  by  Ibrahim  Bey  in  1838  that  first  threw  light 
on  the  mysteries  of  their  religion.  Then,  as  now,  there 
were  certain  centres  of  Druse  activity,  and  from  Hasbeya 
— one  of  their  chief  strongholds — at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Hermon,  some  soldiers  took  away  a  number  of  sacred 
books  which  they  had  discovered  in  the  khalweh. 

From  these  books,  which  eventually  made  their  way 
to  European  libraries  and  were  in  part  translated,  a 
certain,  though  indefinite,  knowledge  of  the  Druse 
doctrines  has  been  gleaned,  but  their  great  tendency 
towards  symbolism  still  leaves  much  of  their  true  nature 
uninterpreted. 

The  religion  was  founded  upon  Zoroastrian  principles 
at  the  court  of  the  Fatemite  sovereign,  Hakem  Biamrillah, 
the  mad  Khalif  of  Egypt  who  reigned  from  996  to  1020 
a.d.,  and,  like  the  other  rulers  of  his  dynasty,  assumed 
a  hostile  attitude  towards  El-Islam.  Two  Persian  priests 
of  his  entourage,  El-Dorazy  and  Hamzeh,  both  of  the 
Batemite  or  Mystic  Sect,  declared  Khalif  Hakem  to  be 
the  tenth  incarnation  of  the  Deity.  El-Dorazy  preached 
this  belief  to  the  people,  insisting  at  the  same  time  upon 
the  worship  due  to  the  Khalif. 

To  prove  the  Khalif’ s  divinity  he  embodied  his  new 
creed  in  a  treatise  which  he  read  publicly  in  the  chief 
mosque  of  Cairo  before  an  assembled  multitude.  The 


A  Secret  Religion  69 

result  of  his  audacity  has  two  stories  attached  to  it.  One 
states  that  his  audience,  infuriated  with  indignation, 
killed  him  on  the  spot.  The  second  story  declares  that 
Khalif  Hakem  rescued  him  from  his  perilous  position, 
and  had  him  secretly  conveyed  to  Syria.  Here  the 
Batemites,  expelled  from  Persia,  had  settled  in  Wadi-et- 
Teim,  the  valley  which  separates  Mount  Hermon  from 
the  southern  extremity  of  the  Lebanon  range,  and  has 
always  been  the  headquarters  of  the  Druse  sect.  The 
Khalweh-el-Biyad,  a  short  distance  from  Hasbeya  in 
the  Wadi-et-Teim,  is  their  central  shrine  of  worship  to 
this  day. 

Hamzeh,  the  second  Persian  priest,  assumed  the 
mantle  of  El-Dorazy  without  delay.  He  undermined 
his  predecessor’s  influence  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
Druses,  though  deriving  their  name  from  El-Dorazy 
himself,  disown  any  connection  with  him.  His  name 
does  not  once  appear  in  the  Druse  catechism,  which 
yet  declares  Hamzeh  to  be  the  greatest  and  most 
beautiful  of  God’s  creations,  and  the  embodiment  of  the 
“  Universal  Intelligence.” 

Meanwhile  Khalif  Hakem  claimed  for  himself  the 
divinity  taught  by  El-Dorazy  and  Hamzeh,  and  pretended 
to  know  the  secrets  of  all  his  people.  Many  were  the 
extravagances  he  committed,  and  subsequently,  through 
the  plotting  of  his  sister,  Sitt  Mullock,  he  came  to  a 
tragic  end.  Two  slaves  were  sent  to  lie  in  ambush 
on  a  hill  to  which  Hakem  frequently  rode  on  a  white 
donkey  with  two  attendants  only,  that  he  might  there 
meditate  in  secret. 


70 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  slaves  killed  the  Khalif,  and  then  left  his  garments 
all  buttoned  and  fastened  in  their  proper  order  as  though 
the  body  had  slipped  miraculously  through  them.  The 
corpse  they  took  to  the  sister’s  palace,  where  it  was 
privately  buried. 

Hamzeh,  who  had  not  desisted  from  propagating  the 
doctrine  of  Hakem’s  divinity  during  the  Khalif  s  reign, 
refused  to  render  the  same  worship  to  the  new  Khalif 
Ali,  who  was  Hakem’s  son.  He  declared  that  this 
transference  of  faith  was  an  impossibility,  as  Hakem, 
their  first  Lord  and  master,  their  God  and  Lord,  was  not 
dead.  He  had  only  disappeared  from  the  earth  to  test  the 
faithfulness  of  his  followers,  said  Hamzeh,  in  explanation 
of  his  attitude.  He  then  produced  a  book  written  on 
the  subject  of  Hakem’s  disappearance,  which  he  declared 
he  had  found  attached  to  the  door  of  the  chief  mosque. 
In  the  Druse  catechism  the  questions  are  asked  : 

<£  What  did  Ali  do  when  our  Lord  Hakem  dis¬ 
appeared  ?  ” 

“  He  sat  on  the  throne  and  said,  c  I  am  the  son  of 
Hakem  ;  worship  me  as  you  worshipped  my  father  !  ’ 
But  the  people  made  reply,  c  Our  Lord  Hakem  was 
never  born,  and  he  has  no  children.’  ” 

t£  Did  Ali  then  ask,  c  Am  I  a  foundling  ?  ’  ” 

“  Yes,  and  Hamzeh  answered,  c  It  is  you  who  have 
said  it,  and  therefore  witness  to  yourself.’  ” 

At  once  Ali  renounced  this  new  religion  of  his 
father’s  which  accorded  no  honour  to  himself,  and  then 
vented  his  exasperation  in  hot  persecution  of  the  Druses. 
All  who  were  able  fled  to  Wadi-et-Teim,  and  to 


7i 


A  Secret  Religion 

Damascus  ;  doctrines  and  followers  entirely  disappeared 
from  Egypt,  and  the  religion  took  firm  root  in  the 
Lebanon. 

The  Batemites  had  evolved  their  creed  from  old 
religions  by  a  system  of  allegorisation  and  symbolism, 
attaching  to  every  outward  object  a  mystical  interpretation, 
as  well  as  to  the  readings  of  the  Koran.  In  comparing 
Batemite  and  Druse  creeds  there  is  so  much  similarity, 
through  their  derivation  from  the  same  source,  that  a 
fusion  of  religious  doctrines  is  imagined  to  have  taken 
place  when  the  persecuted  followers  of  Hakem  settled 
in  the  Wadi-et-Teim. 

The  sacred  books  of  the  Druses  are  six  in  number, 
containing  one  hundred  and  eleven  treatises  written 
principally  by  Hamzeh  in  imitation  of  the  Koran,  but 
decidedly  inferior  in  diction  and  matter.  These  were 
kept  secret,  and  are  still  only  allowed  to  be  read  by  the 
religious  heads  of  the  people. 

In  these  books  are  unfolded  the  doctrines  of  the 
Druse  religion,  based  on  the  principle  of  dualism — the 
darkness  and  light,  or  Ormuz  and  Ahriman  of  the 
Persians.  The  two  principles  of  good  and  evil,  lightness 
and  darkness,  are  said  to  manifest  themselves  in  successive 
human  forms  which  are  accounted  phantom  appearances, 
assumed  in  order  to  prove  to  man  the  reality  of  the 
divine  existence  or  Being. 

The  Khalif  Hakem  was  declared  to  be  the  tenth 
manifestation  of  God  in  the  flesh.  Hamzeh,  his  prophet, 
was  the  embodiment  of  the  Universal  Intelligence  which 
emanated  from  God  and  was  pure  light  as  opposed  to 


72 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

gross  darkness  ;  he  was  the  true  Messiah  and  had  three 
kindred  spirits — the  will,  the  purpose,  and  the  word. 
In  the  days  of  Christ  these  kindred  spirits  of  the 
incarnation  of  pure  light  were  John,  Matthew,  and 
Mark.  They  were  called  Ismael,  Mohammed-el-Kelmi, 
and  Bahr-ed-deen  when  Hamzeh  lived.  The  three 
Evangelists  are  also  called  “  the  men  of  wisdom  ”  in  the 
Druse  catechism  because  they  forewarned  and  preached 
the  continuance  of  the  true  Christ  in  the  person  of 
Hamzeh. 

The  opposing  principle  of  darkness  or  evil  they 
discovered  in  the  prophet  Mahomet,  the  kindred  spirits 
of  evil  were  known  to  men  in  human  form  as  Ali  Ibn 
Abu  Taleb,  Abu-Bekr,  Omar,  and  Othman.  With  every 
incarnate  manifestation  of  God  there  have  appeared  on 
earth  the  Universal  Intelligence  and  his  spirits  of  light 
and  truth,  and  also  the  devil  with  his  evil  spirits  of 
darkness.  At  the  great  judgment-day  they  will  all  appear 
together. 

“  Satan  was  once  a  beloved  servant  of  God,”  says 
the  catechism,  “  but  he  would  not  yield  obedience  to 
Hamzeh,  the  highest  of  all  pashas,  so  God  cursed  him 
and  drove  him  out  of  the  garden.” 

The  glory  and  wonder  of  his  oneness  is  the  pro¬ 
minent  idea  attached  to  the  Deity — in  fact,  the  Druses 
call  themselves  Unitarians,  and  often  apply  the  term 
Unitarianism  to  their  religion.  But  the  only  doctrine 
which  they  acknowledge,  and  likewise  uphold  openly,  is 
that  of  transmigration  of  souls.  They  believe  that  the 
population  of  the  world  has  always  been  the  same  since 


73 


A  Secret  Religion 

the  creation  :  for  every  body  a  soul,  for  every  created 
soul  a  body,  in  order  that  when  a  man  dies  his  soul 
may  migrate  into  a  body  born  at  that  same  moment 
into  the  world.  The  world  was  peopled  with  different 
races  at  one  and  the  same  time,  all  of  diverse  tongues 
and  occupied  with  pursuits  of  various  nature,  as  in  the 
present  age  of  man.  Nothing  has  changed  their  belief. 

“How  do  the  spirits  return  to  their  bodies?  ”  asks 
the  catechism. 

“  Know  this,  that  when  a  man  dies,  another  is  born, 
and  thus  exists  the  world,”  comes  in  reply. 

They  have  a  name  for  this  doctrine  which  implies 
the  casting  off  of  one  shirt  and  putting  on  another. 
Before  entertaining  a  visitor  of  whose  religion  they  have 
entertained  no  previous  knowledge  they  will  place  two 
pots  before  him,  one  empty  and  the  other  full  of  water. 
If  the  stranger  pours  the  water  from  the  full  vessel  into 
the  empty  one,  his  action  is  taken  as  a  sign  that  he  is, 
at  any  rate,  a  believer  in  the  doctrine  of  transmigration. 
They  welcome  him  as  a  brother  in  the  faith. 

In  support  of  this  belief  they  always  quote  the  words 
of  Christ  concerning  John  the  Baptist  and  Elijah,  also 
the  question,  “  Who  did  sin,  this  man  or  his  parents, 
that  he  was  born  blind  ?  ” 

But  no  true  Druse,  they  are  convinced,  can  be  born 
outside  the  pale  of  his  own  religion.  Their  souls  travel 
from  one  Druse  body  to  another,  prosperous  or  wretched, 
according  to  the  manner  in  which  they  have  ruled  their 
conduct  in  the  previous  existence.  This  theory  does 
not  contradict  another  belief  of  the  average  modern 
VOL.  I 


io 


74 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Druse  that  the  souls  of  their  best  men  are  reborn  in 
China,  for  they  think  that  China  is  inhabited  by  people 
professing  the  same  religion.  They  say,  too,  that  they 
have  co-religionists  in  both  India  and  China,  an  idea 
that  must  date  back  to  the  distant  ages  when  Zoroaster 
propagated  his  system  in  India. 

Matter  is  eternal,  therefore  the  world  will  last  for 
ever  ;  this  is  another  belief.  Their  consummation  of 
happiness  will  begin  with  the  re-appearance  of  Hakem, 
when  he  comes  hereafter  to  judge  the  world.  Between 
his  first  appearance  and  expected  advent  they  calculate 
a  period  of  nine  hundred  years.  These  nine  centuries 
have  already  run  their  course.  The  Druses  still  wait 
in  suspense  for  the  coming  of  their  Messiah. 

“  What  is  the  day  of  judgment  ?  ” 

“  The  day  when  he  will  come  again  as  man,  and 
rule  in  the  world  with  fire  and  sword.” 

“  When  shall  it  be  ?  ” 

“  That  is  a  secret,  but  the  signs  will  appear.” 

<c  What  are  the  signs  ?  ” 

“  The  changing  of  kingdoms  and  the  overthrowing 
of  Islam  by  Christianity.” 

Any  war  in  which  Christian  powers  engage  the 
Moslem  Empire  is  considered  by  the  Druses  as  a 
forerunner  of  the  good  future  in  store  for  them.  The 
books  prophesy  that  the  Christians,  after  wresting 
Jerusalem  from  Islam  rule,  will  march  towards  Mecca, 
where  they  will  be  joined  by  an  Abyssinian,  called 
John,  who  will  be  an  incarnation  of  Satan,  with  a  great 
army  of  Christian  soldiers.  During  the  conflict  arms 


75 


A  Secret  Religion 

will  suddenly  be  suspended  by  the  appalling  tidings 
that  the  Lord  Hakem,  with  Hamzeh  and  the  spirits 
of  light  and  truth,  are  advancing  from  China  with  a 
vast  army. 

Peace  between  the  Christians  and  Moslems  will 
at  once  follow  this  announcement,  both  factions  sur¬ 
rendering  to  the  supremacy  of  the  Druse  Hakems. 
Then  will  come  the  day  of  judgment  by  fire  and 
sword,  followed  by  an  earthquake  and  great  storm, 
which  will  lay  waste  the  plain  of  Mecca,  destroying 
all  unbelievers. 

After  this  destruction  “  they  shall  be  born  again,” 
instructs  the  catechism,  cc  and  he  shall  rule  according 
to  his  will,”  giving  to  the  Druses,  his  faithful  followers, 
power,  authority,  wealth,  with  the  position  of  kings, 
princes,  and  pashas. 

The  Moslems  will  be  transformed  into  dogs  with 
painted  clothing,  and  will  be  paid  twenty  dinars 1  a 
year.  The  Christians  are  to  be  in  a  miserable  state, 
bare-footed,  half-naked,  carriers  of  water  and  fuel 
for  the  bath  and  oven  ;  the  left-hand  sleeve  of 
their  garment  will  be  painted  lead-colour  and  tied 
behind  them.  A  black  glass  ring  will  hang  in  their 
ears,  an  ornament  that  shall  burn  them  in  summer 
and  freeze  them  in  winter.  A  tax  will  be  imposed 
upon  every  person. 

The  Jews  will  not  be  cursed  to  so  great  an  extent 
as  other  infidels,  the  catechism  informs  us,  because 
they  are  a  nation  formed  under  Moses,  son  of  Imram, 

1  An  old  Eastern  coin  of  gold. 


7  6  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

who  did  not  profess  to  be  a  prophet,  or  to  emulate 
Hakem,  but  was  simply  a  man  of  famous  knowledge, 
leading  his  people  by  personal  wisdom,  teaching  them 
all  that  which  he  feigned  to  be  told  by  his  Creator. 

tc  What  will  become  of  his  followers  when  our  Hakem 
comes  ?  ” 

c‘  Our  Lord,  most  excellent  and  mighty,  will  make 
them  his  clerks  and  book-keepers.  They  shall  be 
naked  and  useless,  but  given  necessary  food,  for  our 
Ruler  and  Prophet  appeared  on  Mount  Sinai  as  a 
muleteer  with  a  thousand  camels,  which  made  it  lawful 
for  us  to  kill  and  eat  their  camels  any  day  we  like. 
Because  the  Jews  were  fit  to  see  our  Hakem,  he  will 
not  be  so  cruel  to  them  as  to  others.” 

Some  worshippers  they  liken  to  green  grass,  that  is 
worthless  when  it  is  old.  When  their  bodies  are  destroyed 
at  the  judgment-day,  their  spirits,  being  unable  to  assume 
a  new  tabernacle  of  flesh,  will  disperse  into  space. 

The  principal  idea  of  the  average  intelligent  Druse, 
touching  the  Christian  religion,  connects  itself  with 
the  identity  of  Christ.  He  says  there  were  two  Christs, 
the  false  and  the  true  Christ.  The  real  Christ  was 
numbered  among  the  disciples,  by  name  Salman-el-Farsee, 
or,  as  other  Druse  authorities  state,  Lazarus,  who  was 
an  incarnation  of  Hamzeh.  It  was  he  who  taught  the 
Gospel  doctrines  to  the  Christian’s  Christ,  and  put 
hatred  into  his  heart  against  the  Jews,  so  that  in  anger 
they  crucified  Him.  After  He  was  buried  the  Druse 
Christ  stole  His  body  from  the  tomb,  and  this  action 
gave  rise  to  the  story  of  the  Resurrection. 


77 


A  Secret  Religion 

The  reason  given  for  this  concealment  of  the  Druse 
Christ  in  the  person  of  one  of  the  disciples  is  somewhat 
vague  :  “  He  meant  thereby  to  redeem  the  united 

Druses  by  the  religion  of  Christ  and  let  no  one 
know  it." 

“  Who  is  He  then  who  entered  the  room  while 
the  doors  were  shut  after  having  risen  from  the 
dead  ?  ” 

“  He  is  the  living  Christ,  who  is  Hamzeh,  the  servant 
of  our  Lord  Hakem,  and  his  angel.” 

The  writers  of  the  four  gospels  are  spoken  of  as 
the  four  wives  of  Hamzeh,  because  their  attitude  towards 
him  was  one  of  subjection  and  obedience.  Jesus,  the 
son  of  Mary,  is  said  to  be  neither  God  nor  Prophet, 
but  an  eloquent  man,  who  through  His  miracles  and 
teaching  founded  a  religion  which  should  in  reality 
belong  to  the  Druse  Hamzeh.  The  true  Gospel  is 
that  which  contains,  not  the  sayings  of  Jesus,  but  ot 
Salman-el-Farsee,  who  was  really  Hamzeh. 

It  was  at  the  command  of  Hamzeh,  given  in  the 
sacred  books,  that  the  secret  of  the  Druse  religion  was 
to  be  strictly  guarded.  The  wisdom  therein  was  not 
to  be  revealed  because  it  contained  the  secret  wisdom 
of  Hamzeh,  whereby  comes  the  salvation  of  souls  and 
the  life  of  the  spirit.  When  they  are  tasked  with  the 
reproach  that  this  reason  for  secrecy  implies  a  desire 
that  none  should  be  saved  except  their  own  sect,  their 
reply  comes  glibly,  “  The  call  is  ended,  the  door  is 
shut,  and  he  that  has  believed  will  continue  to  believe, 
he  that  has  not  believed  will  never  believe.” 


78  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

A  reason  more  akin  to  truth  may  be  found  in  the 
fact  that  secrecy  veils  their  opinions  of  other  religions. 
They  live  under  Moslem  rule,  have  always  done  so 
more  or  less,  and  would  probably  have  been  exterminated 
long  ago  had  the  followers  of  El-Islam  known  that  the 
Druse  religion  denounces  Mahomet  as  the  incarnation 
of  evil,  which  had  previously  revealed  itself  successively 
in  Noah,  Moses,  and  Jesus,  all  of  whom  the  Moslems 
revere,  naming  them  God’s  prophets  and  faithful  servants. 
Far  from  condemning  the  religion  of  Islam,  the  Druses 
are  instructed  by  their  sacred  writings  to  profess  any 
religion  that  is  the  most  widely  promulgated  and  believed, 
whether  it  be  the  Moslem  or  Christian. 

“Follow  it  openly,  but  keep  me  in  your  hearts  ”  (the 
italics  are  mine),  is  a  saying  attributed  to  Hakem,  to 
which  he  also  attached  a  parable  :  “  He  who  wears 

a  garment,  be  it  black,  white,  or  red,  his  body  remains 
the  same  whether  diseased  or  whole  ;  the  garment  does 
not  change  his  body.  Other  religions  are  like  the 
different  garments  and  your  religion  is  as  the  body. 
So  keep  it  in  your  heart,  and  wear  that  which  is  more 
convenient,  and  pretend  to  be  of  the  religion  which 
gives  you  rest  as  much  as  you  desire.” 

To  ensure  the  safe-keeping  of  their  secrets  the 
Druses  have  always  been  divided  into  classes  :  the  akkals, 
or  initiated  ;  the  juhhals,  or  uninitiated,  who  are  not 
admitted  to  the  religious  meetings  held  in  the  khalwehs. 
There  are  two  degrees  of  akkals  :  those  who  after 
two  years’  probation  are  simply  initiated,  and  akkals  of 
high  degree  of  sanctity  who  give  themselves  wholly 


79 


A  Secret  Religion 

to  sacred  duties.  There  are  certain  fixed  ceremonies 
through  which  the  novice  must  pass  before  he  becomes 
initiated  and  counted  one  of  the  akkals.  He  is  also 
given  figs  by  the  head  akkal  which  he  has  to  eat. 

“  O  man,  dost  thou  believe  that  thou  takest  religion 
by  figs,”  he  is  asked,  c<  and  so  become  one  of  the 
united  Druses  ?  ” 

u  Yes,  1  believe.” 

He  is  then  instructed  in  the  rules  and  secrets  of  the 
religion,  and  has  to  sign  his  name  to  a  covenant  composed 
in  the  following  form  : 

“  In  the  name  of  our  Lord  Hakem,  the  only  God  who 
is  indispensable,  who  was  never  created,  nor  born,  and 
is  not  to  be  equalled,  I,  - the  son  of - ,  have  re¬ 

solved  to  put  my  soul  and  body,  my  wives,  children, 
and  property,  all  that  belongs  to  me,  my  right  and  my 
left,  under  the  yoke  of  subjection  to  my  Lord  Hakem, 
the  most  high,  the  ruler  of  rulers,  the  Imam,  the 
Almighty.  I  have  given  him  myself  and  promise  to 
trust  in  him,  and  I  confess  the  true  confession,  and 
witness  before  my  imam  (head-man  or  head  akkal)  and 
my  fellow-playmates  that  I  deny  every  other  religion  that 
has  been  or  will  be.  I  admit  the  unity  and  the  will, 
and  that  there  is  no  God  worshipped  in  heaven  or  earth 
except  my  Lord  Hakem,  the  High  and  in  his  works, 
and  he  is  the  ruler  by  his  word  alone,  and  my  strength 
and  confidence  is  in  him.  To  him  I  commend  all  my 
affairs  ;  I  hate  all  that  opposes  his  service,  his  worship, 
and  obedience,  and  have  taken  this  vow  upon  myself — 
in  health  bodily  and  mentally,  of  my  own  free  will 


8o 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

without  compulsion,  and  testify  to  the  shepherds,  and 
to  the  rest  of  the  prophets,  Amen.  Written  in  the 

month  -  in  the  year  -  of  our  Lord  Hakem, 

who  avenges  himself  of  backsliders  through  the  word 
of  our  Lord  Hamzeh.” 

This  initiation  imposes  strict  rules  of  conduct  and 
dress  upon  the  novice.  He  is  to  be  courteous,  patient, 
self- respectful,  good-tempered,  and  of  peaceful  mien  ; 
he  is  to  refrain  from  evil-speaking,  to  speak  kindly  to 
all  men  that  are  brothers  in  the  faith.  Tobacco  and 
spirituous  drinks  are  forbidden  indulgences. 

The  head  akkals  (iwazid)  are  not  allowed  to  engage 
in  trade,  but  they  may  cultivate  their  own  property  for 
a  livelihood.  Their  deportment  is  an  exaggerated  type 
of  that  imposed  upon  the  simple  initiates.  They  assume 
an  air  of  abject  humility,  are  extremely  cautious  in  the 
choice  of  language,  immediately  correcting  the  least  ex- 
aggeration  of  speech.  Their  standard  of  morality  is  high. 
In  all  matters  the  will  of  the  All-Powerful  supersedes 
personal  desires  ;  illness  and  trouble  find  them  resigned 
and  of  a  stoical  endurance. 

Their  charity  and  self-denial  are  exercised  towards  co¬ 
religionists  only  ;  under  other  circumstances  self-interest 
may  come  into  play,  hypocrisy  being  the  veil  their 
religion  allows  them  to  don  on  principle.  The  chief 
business  of  their  lives  consists  in  reading  and  learning  by 
heart  the  one  hundred  and  eleven  treatises  of  Hamzeh. 

Unlike  the  Mohammedans  of  the  same  degree,  the 
akkals  teach  the  women  of  their  family  the  secrets  of 
their  religion,  and  also  give  them  instruction  in  reading 


A  Secret  Religion  8 1 

and  writing.  For  this  they  have  Hamzeh’s  authority  in 
that  he  bids  them  give  instruction  to  their  sisters  in  the 
faith,  tC  but  let  them  be  secluded  from  you  by  a  partition, 
and  not  lift  up  their  voices.” 

The  khalweh,  the  Druse  place  of  worship,  is  generally 
situated  on  a  hill-summit,  or  some  isolated,  elevated  spot, 
and  is  a  simple  square  structure  of  stone  with  a  cupola. 
It  contains  mats  for  the  floor,  perhaps  a  table,  and 
usually  a  chest  of  some  kind  in  which  are  kept  the 
sacred  books  in  manuscript.  Of  ornamentation  there  is 
no  trace,  for  they  will  not  tolerate  any  form  of  the 
idolatry  which  they  say  is  displayed  in  the  images  and 
pictures  filling  the  Maronite  churches. 

The  worshippers  meet  every  Thursday  evening  for 
study  of  the  sacred  books.  Thursday  is  the  Eastern 
Friday,  and  is  chosen  by  the  Druses  for  their  gatherings 
in  commemoration  of  the  Friday  when  in  the  year 
1020  a. d.  Khalif  Hakem  vanished  from  the  earth.  It 
is  stated  by  an  Oriental  authority  1  on  Eastern  religions 
that  the  singers  of  the  assembly  chant  passages  from  the 
sacred  books,  and.  that  at  the  end  of  the  meeting  they 
sing  epic  poems  written  by  their  own  poets  on  the 
subject  of  Hakem’s  re- appearance.  This  fine  prayer  is 
quoted  as  a  specimen  of  their  strain  of  thought  :  and 
religious  feeling. 

“  Praise  to  thee,  O  thou  whose  grace  is  invisible  ! 
Praise  to  thee  who  hast  the  loftiest  names !  Praise  to 
thee  whose  grace  is  inimitable  !  I  pray  thee,  O  God, 
the  most  generous  of  hearers,  through  those  spirits  who 

1  Wortabet:  Religions  of  the  East. 


VOL.  I 


II 


82 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

submitted  themselves  to  thee,  to  grant  me  purity  of 
heart,  prayer  in  my  tongue,  pardon  in  my  end,  a 
sufficiency  of  righteous  provision  and  a  translation  to 
a  pure  and  holy  tabernacle,  not  to  the  tabernacle  of  a 
wretched  infidel.  I  pray  not  for  the  reversal  of  thy 
decrees,  but  that  grace  may  accompany  thee.  O  thou 
whose  commands  none  can  put  away,  and  whose  decrees 
none  can  frustrate,  thou  art  the  high  and  the  great  one  !  ” 

After  the  women  have  left,  as  well  as  the  ordinary 
akkals,  the  superior  akkals  remain  in  the  khalweh 
alone,  to  discuss  the  political  affairs  of  the  world,  which, 
they  are  firmly  convinced,  are  bound  up  with  the  welfare 
of  the  Druses  and  the  coming  of  Hamzeh  and  Hakem. 
The  whole  Druse  community  throughout  the  Lebanon, 
Hauran,  and  that  of  Mount  Carmel  is  closely  connected 
by  means  of  a  skilfully  worked  network  of  inter¬ 
communications  between  the  various  villages  and  places 
long  established  as  centres  of  activity,  such  as  Hasbeya 
and  Baaklene.  By  these  methods,  unremittingly  exercised, 
their  action  has  always  been  concerted  on  every  occasion 
where  it  was  considered  necessary  to  call  it  into 
movement. 

They  have  a  state  question  which  invariably  they 
put  to  a  stranger  to  discover  whether  he  be  a  true  or  a 
false  Druse  : 

“  Are  there  farmers  in  your  part  of  the  country  who 
plant  the  seed  of  the  myrobalan  ?  ”  (a  fruit  resembling 
a  prune). 

If  the  reply  is,  ccThey  plant  it  in  the  hearts  of 
believers,”  the  stranger  is  welcomed  as  a  brother  Druse. 


A  Secret  Religion  83 

The  Druses  of  to-day  are  watching  from  their 
highland  homes  the  signs  of  the  times  with  almost  bated 
breath.  Any  threatened  broil  between  Turkish  and 
European  Powers,  the  war  with  China,  the  Boer  War, 
the  war  of  Russia  with  Japan,  have  all  been  signs  that 
to  them  are  pregnant  with  meaning.  They  look  upon 
them  as  forerunners  of  the  great  future  towards  which 
the  whole  Druse  race  presses  with  a  vivid  expectancy. 

The  great  fervour  with  which  they  distinguish  the 
English  nation  from  other  Christian  nations  reveals  their 
secret  opinion  that  at  the  present  crisis  in  political  history 
England  is  the  ruling,  the  dominant  Power  of  the  world. 
To  an  Englishman  the  Druse  gives  the  most  cordial 
greeting;  he  hails  him  as  brother,  laying  two  fingers 

together  with  the  words  “  Sawa,  sawa  !  ”  to  denote  a 

family  similarity  between  the  two  races. 

With  self-contained  and  confident  assurance  they 
wait  for  the  transformation  of  their  present  undefined 
position  among  the  peoples  of  the  world  to  one  of  es¬ 
tablished  power  and  distinction.  This  desired  metamor¬ 
phosis  will  at  once  follow  that  glorious  day  which  ushers 
in  the  coming  of  their  Lord  Hakem  from  the  districts 
of  the  Hauran,  when  he  will  appear  a  with  great  power, 
with  soldiers  and  fine  horses,  for  the  sun’s  rays  will 

be  hidden  in  the  space  of  seven  days’  walk  from  the 

soldiers’  lances,  and  his  pashas  will  be  around  him,  and 
blessed  is  he  who  will  be  worthy  to  be  the  ground  under 
his  feet.” 

But  the  nine  hundred  years  of  the  prophecy  are 
past  and  over.  Hope  deferred  bringeth  disillusion  in 


84  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

its  wake.  When  that  hour  of  disillusion  breaks  upon 
the  Druse  nation,  may  it  not  be  the  signal  for  the 
redemption  of  the  united  Druses  by  the  religion  of  the 
real  Christ,  the  Christ  of  the  Christians,  to  whom  they 
have  so  nearly  approached  through  means  of  the  simulcra 
created  by  one  of  the  foreshadowed  false  Christs,  who 
should  be  so  strong  in  their  generation  and  time  that, 
if  it  were  possible,  they  would  deceive  the  very  elect  ? 


CHAPTER  VII 


BAR  UK  CEDARS 

INTO  the  daydream  of  the  siesta  penetrated  a  shrill 
cry  and  then  the  frantic  squawking  of  a  hen  trying 
to  escape  its  doom.  Alas  !  the  cries  of  misery  resolved 
themselves  into  the  dying  protest  of  the  unfortunate 
fowl  I  had  ordered  for  a  picnic  on  the  morrow.  I  had 
to  be  callous  and  close  my  ears,  for  meat  was  at  a 
discount  at  that  moment,  the  muleteers  from  Beyrout, 
through  one  cause  and  another,  not  having  turned  up 
with  the  usual  stores  at  the  time  expected. 

What  a  welcome  sound  was  always  the  jingling, 
tinkling  sound  of  the  bells  of  the  mule-train  from 
Beyrout !  They  arrived  at  all  hours  and  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night,  ringing  their  approach  from  the  muleteer 
track  while  still  far  below  in  the  valley.  They  sounded 
the  advent  of  letters  and  of  the  printed  matter  which 
still  kept  us  in  touch  with  that  remote  world  lying  on 
the  other  side  of  the  lofty  mountain-ridges  piled  sky- 
high  on  the  western  horizon.  To  the  peal  of  those 
bells  vibrated  in  response  all  the  chords  of  heart  and 
mind.  The  present  lost  its  keen  interest  of  novelty. 
Only  the  bells  mattered,  as  they  rang  in  the  messages 
from  home  and  news  of  the  country  of  home. 

The  weather  was  simply  perfect  ;  clear  and  not  too 

85 


86 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

warm,  with  beautiful  floating  clouds  ever  travelling  with 
stately  measure  over  the  soft  blue  of  the  sky.  The 
grapes  were  at  their  best,  the  vineyards  all  along  the 
terraces  full  of  fruit  and  the  busy  ingatherers.  We  were 
to  make  an  expedition  to  the  cedars  of  Baruk,  which 
ran  along  the  ridge  of  the  highest  mountain-ridge  above 
the  valley  of  Baruk,  half-way  on  the  road  to  the  palace 
at  Bet-ed-Din.  We  were  to  be  a  party  of  four,  and 
in  consideration  for  me — a  mere  rider  of  donkeys — 
Miss  Drummond  Hay,  Mr.  X.,  and  the  artist  were  to 
ride  donkeys  also. 

We  ought  to  have  started  at  seven  o’clock,  but  the 
lunch  (in  spite  of  the  tragic  preparations  of  the  previous 
day)  was  not  ready,  and  there  was  a  delay  about  saddles, 
always  a  difficulty  in  Syria  to  those  undowered  with 
their  own.  Miss  Drummond  Hay’s  saddle  would  not 
adapt  itself  to  the  donkey’s  back,  and  after  much  distressed 
action  on  the  part  of  groom  and  coachman,  who  seemed 
to  think  it  was  a  truly  appalling  provocation  of  destiny 
for  their  young  mistress  to  condescend  to  ride  a 
donkey  instead  of  her  own  beautiful  thoroughbred, 
the  difficulty  was  solved  by  Miss  Drummond  Hay’s 
decision  to  ride  a  native  saddle,  which  meant  no  pummel 
and  no  stirrups,  but  a  miniature  mountain-ridge  off 
which  it  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  glide  swiftly 
to  mother  earth  unless  bestriding  its  massive  backbone 
in  the  fashion  of  Semiramis.  An  elegant  rug  was  thrown 
over  the  whole,  and  without  further  delay  Miss  Drummond 
Hay  mounted  her  Syrian  donkey  after  the  fashion  of 
Englishwomen. 


Baruk  Cedars 


87 

The  muleteer  brought  my  animal  round  by  the 
road — for  I  had  taken  the  direct  route  on  foot  through 
the  mulberry-grove  upon  viewing  from  afar  the  difficulty 
of  the  saddle — and  we  all  started,  a  quartette  of  riders, 
followed  by  two  wild,  romantic-looking  muleteers  and 
a  baggage-mule  for  conveying  wraps,  provisions,  and 
a  large  jar  of  drinking-water.  After  keeping  to  the 
road  for  about  a  mile  we  cut  across  the  foot-hills,  and 
began  to  ascend  the  mountains  by  as  steep  and  rugged 
a  track  as  one  unacquainted  with  Syrian,  and  especially 
Lebanon,  byways  can  imagine. 

Seven  miles  of  circuitous  ascent  ensued,  the  plucky 
little  beasts  tackling  the  climb  without  lagging,  and  only 
freed  from  their  burdens  at  one  point,  ten  minutes  before 
reaching  the  first  cedars,  when  the  slope  became  almost 
perpendicular.  It  had  taken  the  space  of  three  hours 
to  ascend  from  the  road  to  the  summit.  Before  we 
started  a  high  wind  had  begun  to  blow,  and  on  the 
heights  every  variety  of  weather  gave  us  welcome. 
Thunder,  lightning,  rain,  sunshine  and  mist,  all  in  rapid 
succession,  but  the  spot  in  which  we  rested  for  a  time, 
after  the  laborious  ascent,  under  the  thick,  roof-like 
spreading  branches  of  large  cedars  was  dry  and  sheltered, 
while  the  elements  rioted  at  will  outside  the  magic  circle. 

The  muleteers,  diligent  and  untiring  as  ever,  lighted 
a  fire  at  a  little  distance  away  while  we  spread  the  lunch 
beneath  the  rafters  of  cedars  with  the  fragrance  of  the 
“  smell  of  Lebanon  ”  exhaling  its  incense  from  the 
rain-sprinkled  boughs.  But  the  forest  kept  calling  to 
us  from  without,  making  subtle  appeal  in  the  melancholy 


88 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

soughing  of  the  wind  through  the  yielding,  creaking 
branches,  in  the  aromatic  breath  of  its  undergrowth,  the 
fresh  earthy  smell  of  the  moist,  spine-strewn  soil. 

We  rose  and  passed  through  the  grove  as  if  treading 
on  enchanted  ground.  Many  of  the  cedars  gave  the 
appearance  of  great  age,  others  were  of  pygmean  stature, 
gnarled  and  rough  as  though  prematurely  arrested  in 
growth  by  a  blast  of  unkind  fate  when  the  sap  was 
young  in  their  sturdy  limbs.  Everywhere  lay  scattered 
heaps  of  boulders  and  great  rocks  as  if  hurled  together 
by  an  earthquake,  the  debris  of  some  temple  of  old,  or 
of  a  highland  fortress  in  the  days  when  there  were  giants 
in  the  earth. 

A  weird  sense  of  mystery  lurked  in  the  vistas 
opening  out  between  the  trees.  For  a  brief  moment  I 
seemed  to  be  gazing  at  that  ancient  wood  wherein  was 
once,  and  only  once,  found  the  golden  bough.  There 
were  the  dim  dells  of  shadows,  half  veiled  in  the  floating 
mist,  dipping  dreamily  between  the  rocks,  overhung  by 
drooping  branches,  and  all  the  cedars  and  the  shrubs 
around  seemed  to  be  pressing  earthwards  in  concealment 
of  that  a pliant  twig”  and  the  precious  leaf. 

It  was  but  a  momentary  illusion,  thrust  quickly  out 
of  mind  by  the  sense  of  reality  conveyed  in  the 
recollection  that  we  were  wandering  among  some  of  the 
few  lonely  survivals  of  the  famous  forests  of  Lebanon. 
Faith  and  imagination  wrestled  hard  in  the  effort  of 
realising  that  these  were  actually  relics  of  forests  once  so 
vast  that  the  high  stature  of  their  cedars  formed  masts 
for  the  ships  of  Tyre  and  Sidon,  and  furnished  wood 


Cedars  of  Lebanon. 


Baruk  Cedars 


89 

for  a  kingly  palace  for  David  ;  forests  once  so  prolific 
that  after  enduring  the  ravages  made  by  the  thirty 
thousand  hewers  of  King  Solomon  and  the  countless 
workmen  of  Hiram,  King  of  Tyre,  there  was  still  a 
residue  of  their  pristine  glory  to  furnish  cedarwood  for 
the  building  of  the  second  temple,  under  Zerubbabel  ! 
that  temple  which  stirred  up  such  conflicting  emotions 
of  retrospection  and  anticipation  at  the  laying  of  the 
foundations  that  the  noise  of  the  shouts  of  joy  could  not 
be  discerned  from  the  noise  of  the  weeping  of  the  people. 

Those  were  the  days  when  for  a  man  to  be  compared 
to  a  cedar  of  Lebanon  was  a  token  of  the  highest 
appreciation.  u  The  Assyrian  was  a  cedar  in  Lebanon, 
with  fair  branches,  and  with  a  shadowing  shroud,  and 
of  an  high  stature  ;  and  his  top  was  among  the  thick 
boughs  .  .  .  nor  was  any  tree  in  the  garden  of  God  like 
unto  him.” 

And  now  though  the  blight  of  time  and  of  man’s 
touch  had  reduced  these  grand  woods  to  a  few  isolated 
groves  the  glamour  of  past  associations  and  their  present 
forlorn  beauty  appealed  strongly  to  both  heart  and  sight. 
Such  glimpses  of  wonderful  valleys  and  billows  of 
mountain-ridges,  such  nearness  of  great  precipices  and 
magical  effects  of  mist  and  sun,  I  had  never  seen  as  in 
wandering  over  that  rugged  height,  through  the  chapparal 
of  the  little  cedar-forest.  Grey  and  green  were  the 
prevailing  colours  in  the  foreground,  with  purple  and 
veiled  blues,  and  curious  rosy  effects  on  the  mist  in  the 
distant  prospects  revealing  themselves  like  glimpses  of 
distant  fairyland  through  the  openings  in  the  trees. 

VOL.  I  12 


9° 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  artist  had  gone  off  with  one  of  the  muleteers 
for  guide  to  gain  a  high  point  from  which  he  could  look 
over  the  plain  of  Bekaa  towards  Djebel-es-Sheikh  tower¬ 
ing  over  the  opposite  hill-range.  He  returned  enchanted 
with  the  effects  he  had  seen,  in  spite  of  being  overtaken 
by  a  vigorous  rain-shower.  It  was  the  same  view  which 
we  were  enabled  to  see  at  a  future  date  from  another  point 
of  the  Baruk  range  of  hills.  It  will  be  touched  upon 
later  instead  of  now,  as  the  three  of  the  party  who  explored 
the  forest  did  not  climb  to  the  ridge,  but  returned  to 
the  first  shelter  of  the  thick-boughed  cedar,  where  the 
remaining  muleteer  had  prepared  a  dais  of  rocks  over¬ 
spread  with  rugs  for  our  resting-place. 

Again  the  smoke  of  a  wood  fire  filtered  bluely 
through  the  rafters  of  the  trees.  Even  the  glow  of 
the  flame  was  welcome  in  advance  of  the  warming 
draught  of  tea,  for  the  rain-showers  had  cooled  the  air  ; 
we  were  about  6,000  feet  above  sea  level,  and  no  longer 
looked  askance  at  the  wraps  which  prevoyant  advice 
had  prevailed  upon  us  to  bring  very  reluctantly  from 
the  warmer  latitudes  below. 

The  artist  came  into  view,  and  no  sooner  had  he 
partaken  of  the  stimulating  cup  than  we  started  by 
another  route  homeward.  It  was  a  sheer  climb  down 
the  face  of  the  mountain  to  the  village  of  Baruk, 
only  possible  to  perform  on  foot.  The  donkeys  led 
the  way  and  we  crawled  gingerly  after  them,  having 
to  guard  warily  every  step  downwards,  and  becoming 
so  fatigued  that  an  hour  passed  before  we  reached  the 
foot  of  that  precipitous  hillside. 


Barufc  Cedars 


91 


Though  an  extremely  bad  riding  track  was  still 
between  us  and  the  village,  we  mounted  our  beasts  and 
stumbled  over  a  mile  of  it  before  emerging  on  the  high¬ 
road.  This  way  back  had  its  advantages,  as  the  remainder 
of  the  route  was  on  the  carriage  road,  instead  of  retracing 
that  slow  and  tedious  climb  of  the  morning.  We 
stopped  at  the  river  of  Baruk  to  enable  our  donkeys 
to  have  a  drink,  and  mine  insisted  upon  quenching  his 
thirst  from  the  deep  centre  of  the  stream.  A  panic, 
assisted  by  mischievous  suggestions  of  the  whole  party, 
seized  upon  me,  that  the  otherwise  well-conditioned 
beast  would  also  take  it  into  his  head  to  lie  down  in 
that  deliciously  refreshing  spot,  a  prospect  that  was 
devoid  of  charm  for  the  rider. 

Fortunately  the  other  donkeys,  its  boon  companions, 
took  upon  themselves  the  responsibility  of  heading  for 
home.  Off  they  raced  on  the  flat  ;  and  out  of  the  water 
waded  and  splashed  my  dilatory  beast  in  haste  to  follow 
so  excellent  an  example,  and  then  they  all  raced  one 
another,  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  so  glad  were  the 
animals  to  have  their  noses  set  at  last  in  the  right 
direction. 

The  visits  of  ceremony  that  are  exchanged  upon  the 
arrival  of  people  of  distinction  in  the  towns  of  Syria  are 
as  scrupulously  performed  in  the  villages,  and  nowhere 
with  more  appearance  of  national  etiquette  than  in  the 
Lebanon.  When  the  wife  of  our  Consul-General  returned 
the  visits  which  had  been  paid  her  by  the  wives  of  the 
representative  Druse  and  Maronite  families  in  the  village, 
she  kindly  invited  me  to  accompany  her  and  her  daughter, 


92 


Under  the*  Syrian  Sun 

together  with  the  English  wife  of  a  Syrian  gentleman 
living  in  the  same  locality. 

To  spare  Lady  Drummond  Hay  the  fatigue  of 
visiting  many  houses  separately,  the  women  of  several 
families  collected  together  in  the  house  of  that  one 
which  was  the  chief  in  the  respective  classes  of  village 
society.  The  first  visit  was  paid  upon  the  humble 
fellahin  families. 

The  party  of  women  who  had  assembled  together 
came  out  of  the  house  to  meet  us  with  cries  of  welcome, 
seizing  our  hands,  pressing  them  to  forehead  and  breast, 
and  conducting  us  with  much  excitement  into  the  low- 
raftered  living-room.  There  were  a  few  borrowed  chairs 
placed  within  for  the  guests,  with  a  low  table  covered 
with  flowers  fronting  them  ;  for  the  entertainers  there 
were  outstretched  rolls  of  matting,  and  a  variety  of 
cushions  and  small  plain  mattresses.  We  sat  there  in 
state  while  glasses  of  coloured  sherbet  were  handed 
round,  followed  by  the  usual  diminutive  cups  of  sweet 
Arab  coffee.  Many  questions  were  put  eagerly  by  one 
and  the  other,  but  the  majority  of  the  women  seemed 
contented  to  do  nothing  but  gaze  with  adoring  eyes  on 
the  wife  and  daughter  of  their  beloved  Inglizi  Consul. 

To  a  house  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  village  raised 
above  the  other  houses,  showing  the  pillared  recessed 
entrance,  deep  and  cool-looking  as  an  Italian  loggia,  the 
next  visit  was  paid.  Here  were  gathered  together  the 
women  of  the  better-class  Druse  villagers,  the  hostess 
being  the  wife  of  the  richest  Druse  peasant  (or  farmer) 
of  the  village  and  vicinity.  Here  we  were  greeted  in 


Baruk  Cedars 


93 


the  court  with  showers  of  rose-water,  a  regular  baptism 
which  made  us  unpleasantly  damp,  and  quite  took  the 
curl  out  of  feathers  and  hair.  It  came  in  deluges  right 
and  left,  oyer  the  walls,  from  behind  the  doors,  round 
every  corner  we  turned,  alternately  with  puffs  of  aromatic, 
sweet-smelling  smoke  from  censers  waved  under  our 
noses  and  to  and  fro  on  all  sides,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  the  shrill,  ear-breaking  ululations  of  joyous  welcome. 

We  passed  through  the  loggia  into  the  room  arranged 
for  the  reception  with  handsome  rugs  spread  out  on  the 
floor  and  narrow  divans  lining  the  walls.  The  whole 
company  sat  down  after  the  hostess,  handsome,  calm, 
and  dignified  as  a  queen  in  her  flowing  drapery  and 
white  veil,  had  received  her  distinguished  visitor  with 
the  due  honours  of  ceremony. 

From  this  house  we  passed  on  to  the  Protestant  and 
Maronite  families,  with  but  small  distinctions  of  etiquette 
to  mark  the  difference  between  the  various  communities. 
On  a  succeeding  day  we  visited  the  mudir  of  the  village, 
who  had  invited  several  of  the  chief  Druse  ladies  to 
receive  with  himself  and  family  the  visit  of  Lady 
Drummond  Hay. 

For  those  not  as  well  acquainted  with  the  mode  of 
government  in  the  Lebanon  and  other  parts  of  Syria 
as  travellers  who  have  spent  some  time  in  the  country,  it 
might  be  well  here  to  explain  that  each  vilayet  or  province 
is  divided  into  so  many  departments  or  sanjaks,  presided 
over  by  a  mutesarrif ;  every  sanjak  is  again  divided  in 
what  are  called  kaimmakamliks,  under  the  jurisdiction  of 
a  kaimmakam.  Now  the  mudirs  are  the  small  governors 


94 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

who  are  at  the  head  of  the  sub-divisions  of  the 
kaimmakamliks. 

It  was  the  mudir  of  this  district  of  Lebanon  upon 
whom  the  call  of  ceremony  was  being  paid.  He  was  of 
an  ancient,  very  noble  family,  though  now,  as  latest 
descendant  of  his  race,  he  had  to  earn  his  livelihood  as 
a  tinker.  Any  one  who  looked  less  like  a  tinker  I  never 
saw.  He  was  a  handsome,  intelligent  man,  immaculately 
fresh-looking  and  imposing  in  his  Druse  costume,  and 
even  equal  to  the  accomplishment  of  speaking  a  little 
English. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PILGRIMS  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  FUTURE 

A  STRANGE  silence  reigned  within  the  house.  A 
glance  through  the  window  intensified  the  depress¬ 
ing  influence.  Even  the  village  presented  a  desolate  aspect, 
and  the  amphitheatre  of  hills,  rising  ridge  upon  ridge 
into  far-away  lofty  summits,  glared  unsympathetic  in 
the  blinding  sunlight. 

Far  across  the  valley  a  black  object  was  moving  on 
the  road  which  clasped  the  precipitous  mountain-side  ; 
and  with  its  creeping  advance  the  blankness  of  heart 
and  mind  became  acute.  The  object  of  vision  was  a 
carriage,  in  which  were  seated  two  persons  whose  sojourn 
in  that  little  Syrian  pension  in  the  heart  of  the  Lebanon 
Mountains  had  stirred  into  life  so  many  rich  thoughts, 
connecting  a  visionary  golden  future  with  seeds  sown 
in  a  strenuous  past,  that  their  departure  created  a  pro¬ 
portionate  void. 

The  names  of  these  two  persons  had  haunted  my 
ears  for  weeks.  On  the  journey  to  and  from  Jerusalem 
constant  inquiry  had  been  made  whether  I  had  met 
them  at  one  point  or  another.  An  inscription  in  the 
visitors’  book  at  a  Jaffa  hotel  first  awakened  interest 
concerning  these  two  well-known  personalities  : 

95 


96  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

“  17  mars,  Hyacinthe  Loyson,  pretre  catholique, 
et  Madame  Hyacinthe  Loyson,  de  Paris  a  Jerusalem. 
Pelerins  de  l’figlise  de  1’ Avenir.” 

Pilgrims  of  the  Church  of  the  Future !  What 
lengthening  vistas  lay  mirrored  to  imagination  in  that 
phrase,  conjured  up  by  the  signature  of  a  man  who  had 
been,  and  still  was,  a  saint  militant  of  his  age  and  country ! 

Though  visiting  the  Holy  City  at  the  same  time, 
our  paths  did  not  then  converge.  The  first  evening  of 
my  return  to  Jaffa,  I  was  told  it  was  a  pity  my  arrival 
had  not  been  timed  a  day  earlier  on  account  of  an 
interesting  conference  held  the  preceding  day  by  Madame 
Loyson,  the  wife  of  the  celebrated  Frenchman,  P£re 
Hyacinthe. 

“  Upon  what  subject  ?  ”  was  my  immediate  inquiry. 

“  The  education  of  women  in  the  Orient,”  was  the 
reply,  aand  the  importance  of  establishing  a  bond  of 
union  between  the  women  of  the  East  and  the  women 
of  the  West.” 

Jaffa  residents  at  the  dinner-table  expressed  admiration 
of  the  scheme,  and  the  deep  necessity  for  some  such 
exploitation  of  progress  in  a  country  where  the  majority 
of  women  are  still  bound  to  a  life  of  seclusion  and 
stagnation  of  mental  competency  by  the  iron  hand  of 
custom  and  strict  tenets  of  their  religion.  It  transpired 
during  conversation  that  Pere  and  Madame  Loyson,  now 
guests  at  the  Coptic  Monastery,  were  to  take  their 
departure  from  Jaffa  on  the  following  day. 

It  was  a  July  day  glowing  with  heat.  A  stiff  breeze, 
hot  and  suffocating,  made  an  exciting  episode  of  the 


Pilgrims  of  the  Church  of  the  Future  97 

passage  of  our  boat  through  the  rocks  that  guard  the 
Jaffa  promontory.  Beyond  there  was  a  heavy  swell, 
and  the  movements  of  the  boatmen  as  they  rose  to 
their  feet  with  every  pull  of  the  oars  through  the  agitated 
waves,  while  echoing  the  steersman’s  rhythmic  cry  to 
Allah,  presented  an  aspect  of  such  danger-provoking 
daring  that  attention  was  strained  until  the  nose  of 
the  boat  shot  in  between  the  sterns  of  others  lying 
beside  the  steamer,  and  we  were  passed  hand  over 
hand,  the  boards  slipping  beneath  our  feet,  across  the 
barrier  of  boats  up  the  gangway  to  firm  foothold  on 
the  deck  of  the  anchored  liner. 

When  I  was  watching  the  suspense  of  other  passengers 
in  the  transit  from  shore  to  ship,  my  dragoman  came 
to  me  for  permission  to  introduce  me  to  a  lady  upon 
whom  he  wished  to  impress  the  advantage  of  patronising 
a  particular  pension  in  Beyrout,  to  which  I  myself  was 
bound.  The  pains  he  had  taken  to  conduct  my  affairs,  so 
far  successfully,  deserved  this  appreciation  of  his  services, 
and  it  was  in  this  simple  fashion  that  my  introduction 
to  Madame  Hyacinthe  Loyson  was  effected. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  deck  I  saw  a  figure, 
tall  and  distinguished-looking.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
dark  grey  gown  of  which  the  upper  part  was  a  tunic 
suspended  from  the  shoulders  in  classic  folds  merging 
into  the  flowing  outline  of  the  skirt.  On  her  head  was 
a  broad-brimmed  hat  simply  trimmed  with  dark  band 
and  a  bow  of  ribbon.  The  black  veil  thrown  across 
the  crown  was  tied  under  the  chin  and  wound  carelessly 
round  the  throat. 


VOL.  I 


13 


98 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

She  turned  her  head  with  a  dignified  movement  at 
our  approach,  revealing  a  face  of  strong,  even  severe, 
character  at  first  glance.  The  eyes  were  dark  and 
penetrating,  almost  piercing,  her  brows  slightly  knitted, 
the  mouth  and  chin  firmly  set.  The  searching,  critical 
look  relaxed  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  depict  into  a 
smile  that  transfigured  the  countenance  with  the  effect  of 
sunshine.  It  beamed  with  unrestrained  hearty  goodwill 
and  warmth,  seeming  to  draw  the  recipient  of  its  gracious¬ 
ness  into  the  immediate  circle  of  confidence  and  favour. 
Madame  Loyson’s  voice  was  decisive,  infused  with  a 
cheeriness  of  tone  that  mellowed  the  unwavering  firmness 
of  speech. 

With  the  interchange  of  a  few  words,  terse  and  to 
the  point,  the  dragoman’s  mind  was  set  at  ease,  and  for 
several  weeks  we  were  fellow-travellers  with  two  of  the 
most  original,  finest  characters  it  is  possible  to  encounter 
on  earth.  They  won  involuntary  admiration,  they 
stormed  our  hearts  with  no  effort,  no  consciousness  on 
their  part.  It  was  an  effect  produced  by  the  living 
witness  to  our  eyes  of  a  status  of  noble  theory  worked 
into  the  practical  details  of  daily  existence  with  habitual 
consistency. 

Pere  Hyacinthe  Loyson  showed  more  traces  of  the 
sunset  of  life  than  his  wife.  Her  dark  hair  was  scarcely 
sprinkled  with  grey.  His  was  of  silvery  hue,  fallen  away 
from  the  massive  temple  into  silken  waves  of  abundant 
growth  round  the  base  of  the  head.  Beneath  the  strongly 
marked  eyebrows  his  eyes  retained  traces  of  the  fire  of 
youth,  kindling  into  activity  when  discussing  the  great 


Pilgrims  of  the  Church  of  the  Future  99 

subjects  of  his  life-study  and  work.  In  repose  their  gaze 
was  veiled  as  though  wrapped  in  contemplation  of  the 
past,  or  absorbed  in  visionary  outlook  on  problems  of 
the  future  which  engrossed  his  intellect  and  spirit,  all 
tending  to  a  transformation  in  religious  circles  which 
would  consummate  the  unity  of  the  whole  of 
Christendom. 

But  the  grand  old  man  was  temporarily  exhausted  with 
the  strain  of  nine  months’  continuous  travelling  in  the 
East.  The  physical  drawbacks  of  incessant  change  of 
scene  and  diet,  added  to  unlimited  output  of  brain  and 
heart  coil  attending  their  mission  as  propagandists,  re¬ 
sulted  in  breakdown.  Instead  of  re-embarking  for 
Europe,  the  heat  of  midsummer  made  it  expedient  to 
withdraw  to  some  spot  where  the  enervating  fervour 
could  be  counteracted  by  mountain  air,  and  body  and 
mind  recuperated  by  rest  and  seclusion.  The  highland 
village  of  Lebanon,  to  which  we  ourselves  were  bound, 
appeared  to  answer  these  requirements.  But  desire  to 
return  home  after  the  prolonged  absence  was  a  magnet 
drawing  the  invalid  psychically  in  the  opposite  direction. 
These  opposing  currents  of  expediency  and  inclination 
resulted  in  a  state  of  lassitude  that  increased  as  distance 
put  the  mountain  barrier  between  means  of  swift  transit 
to  the  beloved  country. 

At  intervals  the  strong  spirit  emerged  from  the 
clouds  temporarily  obscuring  it,  revealing  bright  flashes 
of  the  colossal  intellect,  the  lofty  ideals,  the  pellucid 
vision  that  had  held  multitudes  bound  under  the  spell 
of  a  marvellous  oratory.  As  a  searchlight  these  brilliant 


IOO 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

interludes  cast  illumination  on  the  character  of  the  man, 
disclosing  the  secret  of  his  influence  upon  man  and 
environment  during  a  life  that  stands  out  in  distinctive 
relief  against  the  mass  of  mediocre  celebrities  crowding 
the  nineteenth  century. 

One  of  the  finest  traits  possessed  by  Pere  Hyacinthe 
is  his  simple  trust  in  the  good  faith  of  his  fellow- 
creatures.  Above  suspicion  himself,  he  suspects  no 
man  of  deceptive  intent.  Like  all  true  teachers,  en¬ 
couragement,  not  denunciation,  is  the  keystone  of  his 
dealing  with  his  brother  man.  He  lays  less  stress 
upon  rules  from  without  than  upon  awakening  the  sense 
of  possible  goodness  and  greatness  from  within  a  man. 

A  Luther  of  his  century  Pere  Hyacinthe  has 
been  called  by  contemporaries.  A  reformer  in  theory 
and  practice  is  also  his  wife.  Bold  to  speak  in  the 
rightness  of  a  cause,  she  never  hesitates  to  make  effort 
to  set  right  whatever  she  believes  to  be  wrong  or  false. 
This  tendency  revealed  itself  with  daily  insistence, 
whether  in  so  small  a  matter  as  demonstrating  the 
salutary  effect  of  water-sprinkling  in  a  room  or  porch 
glowing  with  heat,  whether  in  so  large  a  matter  as 
striving  to  prove  to  a  Roman  Catholic  or  Greek  priest 
the  futility  of  celibacy,  or  convincing  a  Moslem  that 
the  stability  of  his  race  and  its  future  prosperity  depend 
upon  the  education  and  general  elevation  of  his  woman¬ 
kind.  In  every  case  Madame  Loyson  brings  into  play 
the  same  verve,  strong  will,  and  practical  sense,  doubtless 
the  heritage  of  her  American  forefathers. 

Her  views  on  all  subjects  were  of  powerful  cast. 


Syrian  Woman  of  the  Hauran. 


To  face  page 


ioo. 


■ 


. 


Pilgrims  of  the  Church  of  the  Future  ioi 


She  expressed  them  openly,  fearless  of  their  reception, 
whether  her  audience  was  one  or  many.  Not  that  she 
had  always  been  able  to  express  openly  the  subjects 
nearest  her  heart. 

“  Ten  years  ago,  nay  five  years,”  she  said,  in  her 
clear,  frank  voice,  <c  I  would  not  have  had  the  courage 
to  speak  as  I  do  now  ;  but  now,  thank  God,  I  stand 
as  it  were  on  a  mountain-summit,  and  God  is  speaking 
there,  the  one  God  who  is  worshipped  alike  by  the 
Christian  and  the  Moslem.” 

She  declares  herself  able  to  worship  in  any  church 
under  any  denomination,  even  within  the  walls  of  a 
Latin  church,  if  in  any  place  visited  she  found  no 
Protestant  place  of  worship.  The  one  great  God  she 
worshipped  was  in  them  all,  she  said.  She  had  risen 
above  sect,  beyond  denominational  restraint.  Her  creed 
is  the  creed  of  Sinai  :  “  Thou  shalt  have  none  other 
gods  but  Me.” 

In  her  desire  to  break  down  the  barrier  of  sectarianism, 
she  seeks  the  confidence  of  those  holding  religious  views 
opposed  to  her  own. 

“  I  mean  to  come  to  your  church  to-morrow,” 
she  has  said  to  a  Roman  Catholic  priest.  “  I  can 
worship  God  in  every  church,  and  I  would  like  to 
hear  you  preach.  I  like  and  respect  a  good  sermon  ; 
but  I  give  you  fair  warning,  I  shall  tell  you  afterwards 
whereinsoever  I  disagree  with  you.” 

At  their  next  meeting  she  would  point  out,  in  all- 
amicable  discussion,  what  she  accounted  wrong  doctrine 
or  false  reasoning  in  that  particular  sermon, 


102 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

u  We  are  all  Christians,”  she  made  a  point  of  saying 
to  members  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  Churches,  “  and 
Jesus  is  our  Master.  Why  do  we  not  all  return  to 
the  same  beginning,  and  practise  the  same  methods 
by  which  our  Master  lived  and  taught  ?  ”  To  the 
Moslem,  for  whom  she  entertains  great  respect  and 
toleration,  she  would  say,  “  We  both  worship  one  God. 
We  can  unite  in  the  same  prayer,  ‘  Our  Father  which 
is  in  heaven.’  ” 

All  who  profess  any  creed  are  striving  towards 
truth,  she  affirms.  Sincerity  and  devotion  are  the 
two  important  factors  in  mankind’s  efforts  to  win  truth. 
Though  prompt  to  correct  where  she  discerns  error, 
she  is  ready  to  gather  the  frail  ones  of  earth  to  the 
shelter  of  her  warm,  womanly  heart. 

“  Would  you  like  to  be  seen  walking  in  Jerusalem 
with  one  whose  conduct  is  universally  condemned  ?  ” 
asked  a  notable  resident  of  the  Holy  City. 

“  Yes,  that  I  would,  and  be  proud  to  do  what  our 
Master  Christ  has  clearly  shown  us  is  the  right  thing 
to  do,”  she  replied,  in  her  most  emphatic  tones. 

Her  undaunted  spirit  has  been  proved  by  all  kinds 
of  dangers.  She  has  been  lashed  to  the  mast  in  a  storm 
when  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  earlier  life.  In  Paris  she 
was  in  a  carriage  with  her  husband  surrounded  by  a 
raging  mob,  in  momentary  dread  that  in  their  blind 
fury  he  would  be  killed  by  a  bullet  or  dagger  thrust. 
Upon  no  occasion  of  her  life  did  heart  and  lips  pray  with 
greater  reality  than  in  entreaty  for  release  from  deadly 
peril  of  the  life  so  valuable  to  the  world  and  herself. 


Pilgrims  of  the  Church  of  the  Future  103 

Prayer  is,  in  fact,  the  great  bodyguard  of  her  own 
strength.  Her  faith  in  the  fulfilment  of  sincere  petition 
was  profound. 

The  grandeur  of  the  Lebanon  hills  encircling  the 
village  of  Ainzahalta  was  sympathetic  to  her  because 
reviving  memories  of  childhood.  Though  brought  up 
among  the  hills  and  forests  of  New  England,  and 
retaining  her  love  for  mountains  and  trees,  no  longing 
to  revisit  the  home  of  her  birth  was  born  until  she 
came  to  Palestine.  But  when  depressed  with  the  enigma 
of  modern  Jerusalem,  which  baffles  present  efforts  of 
solution,  when  she  came  into  touch  with  all  that  is 
oldest  in  the  history  of  man’s  work  in  the  world, 
and  realised  its  imperfect  accomplishment,  nowhere  more 
evident  than  in  the  Holy  City — then  the  strings  of 
her  whole  nature  rebounded  with  unspeakable  yearning 
towards  the  natural  modernity  of  her  native  land. 

The  emotion  was  but  the  manifestation  of  the 
tendency  within  her  for  making  all  *  things  new,  the 
spirit  of  reform  which  appeared  to  be  the  motive  power 
of  action. 

In  spite  of  chief  attention  being  monopolised  by 
care  for  her  husband’s  health  and  comfort,  her  ideas 
of  reform  burned  with  sufficient  zeal  to  excite  responsive 
fire  of  reflection  in  minds  brought  in  contact  with  her 
own  in  the  locanda  and  the  village.  Strong  common- 
sense  marked  her  suggestions.  Every  day  she  directed 
water  to  be  thrown  in  profusion  over  the  stone  flags 
of  the  dining-hall  and  loggia  to  freshen  the  arid 
atmosphere.  Toleration  of  an  eccentric  “  franghi  ”  notion, 


104  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

not  conviction  of  its  efficacy,  marked  the  demeanour 
of  the  Syrian  maid  obeying  instructions.  She  next 
directed  an  awning  to  be  hung  over  the  balcony  of 
the  hotel  to  mitigate  the  blinding  glare  of  the 
cloudless  sky.  No  material  for  its  construction  was 
at  hand. 

cc  It  must  be  found,”  was  her  reply.  Thereupon 
material  was  produced  and  an  innovation  started  by 
which  the  changing  influx  of  summer  visitors  profited 
to  the  end  of  the  season.  In  another  couple  of  days 
she  had  caused  the  stone  floor  of  the  hall  to  be 
covered  at  one  end  with  an  Eastern  rug.  Curtains  to 
the  glass  partition  opening  on  the  balcony  followed 
with  rapidity.  Compared  with  its  first  austerity  the 
locanda  possessed  one  homely  and  clothed  corner  for 
tranquil  retreat. 

Madame  Loyson’s  mind  is  acutely  susceptible  to 
environment.  She  cannot  write  or  work  if  there  is 
anything  brown  in  hue  near  her.  The  colour  disturbs 
her. 

Ct  Just  as  an  artist  needs  a  strong  point  of  colour 
from  which  to  work,  so  my  mind  in  working  requires 
a  centre  of  motion — perhaps  a  picture  that  appeals 
to  me.  When  I  lift  my  eyes,  I  must  find  something 
to  focus  my  ideas  to  help  them  to  flow  freely  and 
harmoniously.” 

The  neglected  exterior  of  a  group  of  Druse  cottages 
immediately  below  the  windows  of  the  locanda  troubled 
her  orderly  mind.  From  the  balcony  she  suggested 
to  the  surprised  inmates,  through  an  interpreter,  that 


Pilgrims  of  the  Church  of  the  Future  105 


they  should  clear  the  ground  of  debris  and  stones, 
and  bring  out  stools  to  sit  upon  in  lieu  of  squatting 
on  the  bare  earth. 

“  One  of  the  first  signs  of  civilisation  conies  with 
the  idea  instilled  that  people  should  not  crouch  on  the 
ground,  but  have  a  seat  that  obliges  them  to  sit  up¬ 
right,”  she  explained  later. 

A  walk  through  the  village,  in  and  out  of  the 
tortuous  stone-strewn  paths,  the  steep  descents  and 
hills,  caused  her  to  express  desire  to  converse  with  the 
young  men  of  the  village,  who  were  at  home  for 
the  summer  vacation  from  the  schools  at  Beyrout. 
They  were  to  be  reformers,  she  said,  of  their  own 
native  place.  They  were  invited  to  a  gathering  of 
English-speaking  people  at  the  locanda  which  Madame 
Loyson  had  convened  in  order  to  explain  the  mission 
which,  on  two  separate  occasions,  had  brought  her  and 
Pere  Hyacinthe  to  the  Orient. 

The  best  explanation  of  this  mission  is  contained 
in  the  small  pamphlet  written  by  Madame  Loyson 
in  1899,  called  “  Alliance  des  Femmes  orientales 
et  occidentales  pour  le  Progres  des  Relations  amicales 
entre  les  Nations  et  l’Etablissement  de  la  Paix  per- 
manente.” 

Next  day  the  young  Syrians  sent  a  deputy  to 
inquire  if  Madame  Loyson  would  receive  them  privately, 
and  explain  some  definite  form  in  which  they  could 
carry  out  the  ideas  put  before  them  at  the  meeting. 
She  received  them  gladly,  told  them  of  Ruskin’s  road¬ 
making,  and  how  it  was  possible  to  do  practical  work 


VOL.  1 


14 


106  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

in  their  own  village  in  the  same  spirit.  The  rocky 
paths  could  be  cleared  and  the  stones  piled  in  heaps, 
which  could  again  be  dispersed  at  the  rainy  season  to 
prevent  the  soil  from  being  washed  away  with  hillside 
torrents.  All  the  refuse  of  each  hut  and  house  lay  in 
unsavoury  profusion  outside  the  doors  and  walls.  Here 
was  another  lesson  to  instil.  The  young  Druse  and 
Maronite  blood  was  fired  with  enthusiasm  to  remodel 
their  village.  Madame  Loyson’s  zeal  for  reform  was  the 
flint  to  tinder. 

But  alas  !  the  time  was  all  too  short  for  the  promul¬ 
gation  of  the  gospel  of  sweetness  and  light  into  this 
Eastern  village.  Pere  Loyson’s  health  did  not  improve. 
The  rarefied  heights  of  Lebanon  were  exhausting  after 
the  high  pressure  of  travel.  It  was  imperative  he  should 
hasten  his  departure.  On  the  eve  of  the  day  of  leave- 
taking  he  spoke  of  the  power  of  home-sickness  to 
neutralise  the  faculty  of  enjoyment.  He  was  seated  on 
the  balcony,  the  village  spread  before  his  gaze  with 
its  quaint  cube-shaped  dwellings  and  vivid  mulberry 
terraces,  all  enclosed  by  the  majestic  amphitheatre  of 
rolling  hills. 

u  Far  from  one’s  country,  in  a  foreign  land  surrounded 
by  high  mountains,  many  miles  from  a  railroad,  is  a 
situation  requiring  c  beaucoup  de  courage,  et  moi,  je  n’en 
ai  pas  a  present  ;  j’ai  honte,  j’ai  beaucoup  de  honte.’  It 
is  childish,”  he  concluded  with  a  smile  that  touched  the 
heart.  It  was  a  confession  that  the  man  well  named 
“  the  lion-hearted”  could  make  and  be  the  deeper 
revered  for  his  frank  admission  of  the  natural  yearning 


Pilgrims  of  the  Church  of  the  Future  107 

during  sickness  for  country  and  home.  He  is  now 
preaching  and  writing  and  promulgating  his  great  mission 
with  a  vigour  and  intellectual  mastery  u  as  never  before,” 
wrote  a  recent  correspondent. 

People  whose  hearts  they  had  won  during  the  two 
weeks’  visit  flocked  round  the  carriage  to  say  farewell. 
Women,  picturesque  in  flowing  white  veils  and  classic 
draped  robes,  flung  themselves  in  Madame  Loyson’s  path, 
catching  at  her  dress,  her  hands,  her  arms.  The  wife 
of  the  Maronite  priest — a  woman  with  grown-up  family 
and  children  all  joining  in  this  sorrow  of  leave-taking — 
caught  hold  of  her  and  kissed  her  vehemently  on  both 
cheeks,  while  shedding  tears  which  seemed  a  mute 
acknowledgment  of  the  link  already  uniting  the  women 
of  East  and  West.  And  now  they  were  fading  from 
view,  the  carriage  merging  into  the  shadow  stealing 
down  the  lofty  hillside. 

“  Ships  that  pass  in  the  night,”  not  ghost-like, 
silently,  but  with  the  clear  signal  :  “  Hail  to  the 

brotherhood  of  human  souls  !  ”  Then  onward  again 
with  the  hope  of  reunion  and  anchorage  in  the  great 
haven  that  lies  beyond  these  conflicting  currents  of  many 
creeds  and  sects. 


CHAPTER  IX 


A  DRUSE  WEDDING 


NE  afternoon  I  was  entertaining  some  visitors  at 


V_>/  tea  in  the  lewan  when  Rosa,  the  pretty  young 
daughter  of  our  hostess,  came  in  to  announce  that  a 
couple  of  Druse  women  had  called  at  the  locanda  to 
invite  me  to  a  wedding  for  that  same  evening.  This 
news  sounded  rather  exciting,  so  I  lost  no  time  in  going 
out  myself  to  the  loggia  in  order  to  interview  them  on 
the  subject  with  the  help  of  Rosa. 

I  invited  them  to  enter,  using  the  formula  familiar 
to  them.  At  first  they  demurred,  but  finally  con¬ 
sented,  only  for  a  moment.  This  did  not  seem 
strange,  as  I  reflected  they  would  probably  have  much 
to  occupy  them  between  now  and  the  evening  in  pre¬ 
paring  for  the  wedding  festival.  They  kept  themselves 
most  carefully  veiled,  concealing  the  whole  face  except 
one  eye,  brilliantly  dark  in  its  setting  of  white. 

They  were  invited  to  take  their  seat  on  the  divan 
facing  me  with  the  tea-table  between,  and  two  ladies 
who  were  there  with  me,  both  Syrian  born  of  European 
parentage,  kindly  acted  as  interpreters.  The  invitation 
was  again  politely  tendered  in  person,  and  accepted 
with  the  usual  exchange  of  compliment.  We  did  not 


108 


A  Druse  Wedding  109 

hesitate  to  speculate  in  English  upon  the  personality  and 
appearance  of  the  two  women. 

“  They  are  not  from  this  neighbourhood,  or  they 
would  certainly  have  known  me,”  remarked  a  visitor 
present.  “  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  ”  she  made 
inquiry. 

“  We  come  from  Betelun  beyond  Baruk,”  said  one 
of  the  Druse  women  after  a  moment’s  pause. 

I  ventured  to  put  the  question  through  one  of  the 
ladies  as  to  whether  they  would  not  unveil  for  us  to 
speak  together  in  a  more  friendly  and  informal  manner. 

Oh  no  !  that  was  out  of  the  question,  was  the 
hurried  reply,  for  there  was  a  cc  khowaja  ”  present. 
The  artist  was  in  the  room  privately  making  notes  of 
their  costumes. 

“You  will  at  least  show  us  your  dress?”  was  the 
next  request.  We  are  nothing  if  not  imitative  of  the 
native  in  pushing  inquiry  in  a  way  little  compatible 
with  our  own  ideas  of  etiquette  either  at  home  or 
abroad. 

For  answer  they  threw  back  their  veils  from  their 
whole  busts,  though  still  retaining  part  of  it  over  the 
face.  One  of  the  dresses  was  of  a  superior  quality  to 
the  other,  the  bodice  being  of  a  rich  royal-blue  velvet 
fastened  with  costly  clasps  and  ornamented  with  big 
buttons  of  silver.  A  deep  belt  supported  the  upper 
skirt,  which  fell  back  in  front  disclosing  a  bright-hued 
skirt  beneath.  A  white  chemisette  of  soft  folded  muslin 
was  slipped  beneath  the  corseted  bodice,  leaving  the 
firm,  full  pillar  of  the  neck  visible.  Bracelets  of  silver 


I  IO 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

filigree  work  and  finely  wrought  circlets  clustered 
thickly  on  the  arms  from  the  wrist  to  elbow.  They 
seemed  women  of  some  standing  in  their  own  social 
world. 

Yes,  they  were  both  married,  and  one  of  them  had 
five  children  to  tend  in  her  home.  No,  they  preferred 
neither  to  eat  nor  drink,  not  even  the  cup  of  tea,  which  it 
seemed  an  act  of  needless  self-denial  to  refuse.  Suddenly 
they  rose  and  declared  time  pressed,  they  must  make 
their  farewells  to  the  ladies  who  had  been  so  amiable. 
Would  these  same  ladies  only  confer  upon  their  humble 
houses  in  Betelun  the  unspeakable  honour  of  a  visit,  all 
the  birds  of  the  air  would  gather  together  to  sing  them 
songs  of  welcome. 

I  went  with  them  to  the  door,  and  through  to  the 
loggia,  where  once  again  I  asked  if  they  would  unveil, 
that  I  might  recognise  them  in  their  own  homes.  For 
a  moment  they  allowed  me  to  look  upon  their  faces, 
enwreathed  with  thick  plaits,  while  across  each  forehead 
was  a  band  from  which  hung  many  silver  coins,  and 
in  the  hair  fastened  at  intervals  a  blue  stone,  the 
customary  charm  against  the  evil  eye.  They  departed, 
giving  me  to  understand  that  they  would  come  and 
fetch  me  to  take  part  in  the  wedding  festivities  that 
same  evening. 

We  were  still  talking  over  our  coffee  after  dinner 
when  word  was  brought  in  to  me  that  the  women 
were  waiting.  To  my  surprise,  as  I  got  up  hurriedly 
to  fetch  a  wrap,  they  came  forward  into  the  lewan,  and 
threw  back  their  veils. 


A  Druse  Wedding  hi 

“  You  don’t  know  us -yet?”  said  a  voice  in  plain 
English.  “  You  never  found  us  out,”  and  from  the 
two  Druse  women  rang  out  peals  of  merry  laughter. 

I  was  staggered  at  this  unexpected  denouement,  but 
so  good  was  the  disguise,  so  excellent  the  make-up, 
that  positively  they  had  to  tell  me  their  names,  though 
I  knew  them  in  their  own  character  very  well.  They 
were  two  English  girls  staying  in  the  neighbourhood 
who  had  lived  so  many  years  in  Syria  that  their  Arabic 
deceived  even  the  ladies  who  had  acted  as  interpreters 
in  the  afternoon. 

“  Is  the  wedding  feast  a  myth  too  ?  ”  I  hastily 
inquired  with  some  chagrin  of  mien. 

“No  ;  that  is  a  reality,”  they  said,  “and  you  must 
come  with  us  now.  We  are  going  there  just  as  we 

*  7 

are. 

Across  the  terrace  a  real  Druse  woman  was  waiting, 
attended  by  a  small  native  lad  acting  as  link-boy, 
with  lantern  alight,  to  escort  us  to  the  house  of  the 
Druse  wedding.  The  English  girls  were  to  be  intro¬ 
duced  as  Druse  visitors  from  a  distance  ;  not  a  syllable 
of  their  identity  was  to  be  whispered,  in  case  the  disguise 
should  be  regarded  as  an  unfavourable  omen  on  such  an 
occasion. 

The  night  was  of  Cimmerian  darkness.  We  held 
on  to  one  another,  and  stumbled  as  best  we  could 
down  the  stony  path,  winding  in  and  between  the  low 
houses,  falling  now  against  one  wall,  then  the  other, 
the  tiny  taper  of  the  lantern  serving  but  to  make  the 
blackness  visible.  Mysterious  figures  rubbed  against 


1 12 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

us  as  they  passed  :  anxiously  the  aged  native  woman 
entreated  the  girls  to  bear  in  mind  the  absolute  and 
imperative  need  of  keeping  their  faces  veiled  all  the 
time,  more  especially  when  light  from  an  interior  illumi¬ 
nated  our  figures  in  passing. 

Now  the  pebbled  track  seemed  to  become  a  mere 
gutter,  with  water  running  between  the  stones.  A  slight 
pause  as  we  turned  abruptly  to  the  left  beneath  the 
deep  shadow  of  a  high  wall,  when  the  path  widened 
again  into  an  open  space,  dark  with  short  mulberry- 
trees,  through  which  the  low-built  cottages  frowned  darkly 
in  the  fitful  glimmer  of  the  tiny  hand-lamp  borne  by 
the  small  cobold  of  a  boy.  It  seemed  just  such  a  light 
as  might  have  been  carried  by  the  ten  virgins,  the 
floating  white  veils  of  the  three  Druse  costumes  helping 
the  illusion. 

Again  the  two  English  girls  were  strictly  warned 
not  to  let  a  single  word  of  their  own  tongue  escape 
their  lips.  On  we  went,  feeling  our  way  rather  than 
seeing  it.  Again  we  were  passed  by  gliding,  mysterious 
figures.  Again  we  appeared  to  pass  through  whole 
labyrinths  of  narrow,  impenetrable  lanes,  in  between 
irregularly  built  dwellings  of  the  most  primitive  con¬ 
struction.  Suddenly  our  guide  turned  aside,  through 
an  opening  in  the  wall,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
small  enclosure,  facing  two  humble  domiciles,  with  a 
stone  barrier  dividing  one  entrance  from  the  other. 

Through  the  open  door  of  the  first  low  lintel 
we  saw  a  thronged  room  of  turbaned  men  chattering 
at  the  top  of  their  voices,  while  seated  on  low  stools 


A  Druse  Wedding  1 1 3 

or  squatting  in  groups  on  the  floor.  The  bridegroom 
was  sitting  within,  finely  arrayed,  dignified  and  solemn 
as  became  the  occasion.  From  the  other  house,  divided 
from  the  bridegroom’s  levee,  poured  forth  such  a  babel 
of  sound  as  one  only  hears  in  lands  of  the  turban  and 
veil.  High-pitched  and  vibrant  rang  out  the  incessant 
trill  of  the  festal  notes  of  joy,  varied  by  loud  shrill 
cries  of  children,  the  screaming  of  young  babies,  the 
thrum  of  the  tambour,  the  jingling  of  castanets. 

Through  the  open  entrance  was  seen  a  low,  squalid 
interior  ;  the  roof  supported  by  a  few  smoke-begrimed 
pillars,  on  these,  and  hanging  also  upon  the  walls  around, 
were  flickering  oil  lamps,  which,  with  the  yellow  flame 
of  a  few  candles  held  in  various  hands,  constituted  an 
illumination  that  threw  the  whole  wild  scene  within  into 
a  weird  effect  of  chiaroscuro.  The  place  swarmed  with 
women  and  children  in  every  variety  of  costume  of 
vivid  and  varied  colouring.  Down  the  step  into  the 
room  we  descended,  and  immediately  came  vociferous 
cries  of  welcome  from  eager,  inquisitive,  peering  faces, 
accompanied  by  a  pushing,  and  an  energetic  pulling 
through  the  densely  crowded  space. 

Grimy  hands  laid  hold  of  one  ;  wrinkled  faces, 
bronze-hued  faces,  dimpled  cheeks,  pressed  closely  round  ; 
blazing  eyes,  velvet  eyes,  curiously  questioning  eyes, 
stared  upon  the  intruding  yet  welcome  guests  from 
every  part  of  the  room.  Through  a  sudden  opening 
in  the  crowd  the  remarkable  centre  of  attraction,  the 
one  still  spot  that  was  the  pivot  of  this  raving,  seething, 
company,  struck  one  with  unexpected  shock. 


VOL.  I 


IS 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 


1 J  + 

Motionless  as  a  statue  stood  the  short,  stout  figure 
of  a  young  woman,  decked  out  like  some  ancient  idol 
at  the  hour  of  sacrifice  in  a  pagan  sanctuary.  The  face 
was  immobile  as  a  mask,  with  tightly  closed  eyes,  while 
the  hair  was  parted  in  the  centre  and  plastered  sleekly 
on  either  side  of  the  face.  A  high-peaked  wreath  of 
artificial  flowers  and  foliage,  brilliant  pink  and  emerald, 
encircled  her  head.  Behind  her  stood  several  women, 
holding  the  bridal  veil  extended  like  a  canopy,  ready 
to  envelop  the  bride  instantly  if  taken  by  surprise, 
through  the  accidental  entrance  of  one  of  the  opposite 
sex.  On  either  side  stood  two  young  Druse  girls,  each 
holding  a  candle  with  extended  arm. 

The  visitors  advanced  to  salute  the  bride  with  the 
expected  kiss,  murmuring  congratulations  and  blessings 
during  the  ceremony  of  embrace.  Every  one  was  talking 
loudly  at  one  and  the  same  time,  when  not  engaged  in 
ululating  the  marriage  joy-cries.  A  double  row  of 
women  sitting  on  the  floor  lined  the  walls,  while  the 
centre  of  the  room  was  an  arena  of  struggling  figures. 

Close  to  the  bride  stood  a  tall  Druse  woman,  her 
long  veil  thrown  back  from  her  face,  her  bearing  erect 
and  dignified.  Just  as  I  recognised  her  as  one  of  the 
hostesses  on  the  occasion  of  the  visits  of  ceremony 
made  in  the  village  by  the  Consul’s  wife,  the  light  of 
recognition  also  shone  in  her  splendid  dark  eyes.  She 
moved  to  meet  me  with  a  quick,  graceful  gesture,  took 
me  by  the  arm,  produced  a  chair  by  some  clever  sleight 
of  hand,  put  it  in  the  place  of  honour  by  the  bride’s 
side,  and  gently  urged  me  to  be  seated. 


A  Druse  Wedding  1 1 5 

In  this  lower  position  the  moving  figures  pressed 
round  in  suffocating  proximity,  children  of  every  age 
crowded  at  my  knees,  touching  me  with  their  hot  little 
fingers,  manifesting  no  trace  of  shyness,  only  a  burning 
curiosity  to  examine  what  to  them  was  a  new  a  zoological  ” 
wonder.  The  two  mock  Druse  girls  became  recognised 
by  all  as  the  secret  of  their  masquerade  filtered  through 
the  assembly.  Looks  of  amusement,  admiration,  mingled 
with  covert  resentment  were  cast  upon  them  from  every 
side.  The  elderly  women,  strictly  conservative  in  the 
adherence  to  their  time-honoured  code  of  what  was 
becoming  in  their  sex,  showed  distinct  disapproval  both 
in  mien  and  vehement  whisper. 

It  was  desired  by  one  and  the  other  that  these 
two  strange  guests,  like  themselves  yet  not  one  of  them¬ 
selves,  should  make  exhibition  of  their  dancing  powers 
in  honour  of  the  bride.  On  the  other  hand,  the  wedding 
party  was  in  mourning,  therefore  at  this  particular  mar¬ 
riage  festival  singing  and  dancing  were  not  considered 
seemly.  However,  the  major  portion  of  the  throng 
allowed  curiosity  to  out-balance  their  notions  of  family 
decorum,  and  the  pretty  English  girls  in  their  handsome 
Druse  garb  gave  a  graceful  performance  of  a  native 
dance  in  the  hastily  cleared  space  before  the  bride,  each 
dancing  in  turn  while  the  other  energetically  rattled  on 
the  tambourine  in  the  regulation  rhythm  of  the  swaying 
movements. 

The  novice  was  only  apparent  in  the  unguarded 
throwing  of  the  handkerchief,  made  coquettish  use  of 
in  the  dance.  The  candles  held  on  either  side  of  the 


1 16  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

bride  were  in  peril  of  extinction  more  than  once,  a  result 
that  would  have  been  regarded  as  a  bad  omen  at  the 
nuptial  feast.  The  bride  meanwhile  had  been  allowed 
to  sit  down,  open  her  eyes  and  watch  the  efforts  made 
in  her  special  honour.  Her  plump,  good-tempered, 
but  decidedly  plain  face  relaxed  into  an  expression  of 
smiling  observation,  making  her  a  pleasanter  cynosure 
for  the  crowd  of  spectators  than  when  masked  in  the 
inscrutable  immobility  of  a  wooden  image. 

The  effect  of  the  moving  figures,  the  lurid  lights, 
the  loud  voices  and  cries  became  overwhelming.  I  grew 
faint  for  lack  of  air,  overcome  by  the  dense,  foul 
atmosphere  and  the  fumes  of  burning  censers.  Suddenly 
in  the  penumbra  of  the  open  doorway  I  saw,  to  my 
uttermost  dismay,  the  familiar  outline  of  a  white  fair- 
bearded  face,  which,  peering  into  the  room  with  undisguised 
show  of  interest,  was  cast  into  light  by  the  nearest 
hanging  lamp. 

At  once  there  was  movement  by  the  door,  and 
feminine  voices  uprose  in  shrill,  even  clamorous,  protest. 
A  white-turbaned  man  developed  from  the  blackness 
without  and  tapped  the  intruder  on  the  shoulder  like 
a  gendarme  on  duty.  To  the  other  side  stepped  a 
red-capped  youth  and  did  likewise.  All  three  figures 
withdrew  in  haste,  blotted  out  like  a  vanishing  lantern- 
slide. 

Loud  voices  raised  in  angry  expostulation  and  ex¬ 
planation  became  audible  from  without.  The  artist 
had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  of  prying  into  the 
women’s  quarter,  and  was  actively  engaged  in  justifying 


A  Druse  Wedding  1 1 7 

the  terrible  breach  of  etiquette  by  explaining  that  he 
sought  his  wife,  that  she  was  within  the  house,  and  he 
must  see  and  speak  to  her  on  affairs  of  vital  import. 
On  the  score  of  his  being  a  mere  ignorant  foreigner, 
a  married  man,  and  an  Englishman  at  that,  the  rash  deed 
was  condoned,  but  it  was  an  experience  that  the  artist, 
though  ever  daring  to  rashness  in  pursuit  of  the 
desired  subjects  for  his  brush,  did  not  again  repeat. 

Soon  afterwards  a  fierce-eyed  Druse,  evidently  one 
of  the  men  of  the  family,  appeared  at  the  door  with 
perturbed,  angry  face.  Two  old  women  began  to  talk 
vehemently  to  him,  declaiming  with  every  appearance  of 
portentous  argument  against  the  intrusion  by  foreigners 
upon  their  feasts.  There  seemed  to  be  an  unfriendly 
spirit  awakening  around  us.  The  dance  was  over  and 
we  withdrew,  making  our  salaams  of  farewell  with  due 
ceremony.  The  scowling  Druse  face  still  held  watch  at 
the  door,  and  his  tall  figure  gave  scant  passage  to  the 
departing  guests.  Boys  tripped  against  us  in  the 
dark  little  forecourt  as  though  hindering  our  progress 
of  mischievous  intent.  From  the  neighbouring  cottage, 
where  the  bridegroom  was  being  feted,  men  looked  out 
blackly  upon  us  as  we  passed. 

Some  days  later  came  the  turn  of  the  Christians 
in  the  village  to  hold  a  festival  of  their  own  in  which 
every  one  could  share  as  spectator,  for  it  was  held  on  the 
roof-tops  of  their  low  houses.  It  was  the  Feast  of 
the  Cross,  observed  by  the  Maronites  and  the  Orthodox 
Greek  communities,  but  on  different  dates,  the  one 
twelve  days  after  the  other. 


1 1 8  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Little  bonfires  were  ablaze  on  every  flat  roof,  the 
dark  figures  moving  around  and  tending  them  giving 
rather  the  appearance  of  some  wild  scene  on  the 
Brocken  than  the  observance  of  a  religious  feast  of 
the  Church.  In  the  courtyard  before  our  locanda  was 
kindled  the  biggest  fire  of  all,  the  Greek  servants  of  the 
household  and  the  children  of  our  hostess  finding  the 
same  uncanny  delight  in  skipping  over  the  flames  as  the 
peasants  of  Western  Europe  on  the  eve  of  St.  John. 

The  Maronites  of  the  Lebanon,  though  not  in  this 
particular  village,  greatly  excel  in  number  the  Druses, 
their  hereditary  foes  in  matters  religious,  political,  and 
social ;  yet  owing  to  the  tacit  understanding  between  the 
Moslems  and  Druses,  when  it  comes  to  a  matter  of 
joining  issue  against  the  Christians,  the  Druse  is  an 
enemy  to  be  reckoned  with. 

It  has  been  surmised,  though  not  proved,  that  the 
Maronites  are  the  relics  of  the  ancient  Syrians,  inhabitants 
of  the  Lebanon,  and  converted  to  orthodoxy  by  John  of 
Maron,  the  alleged  founder  of  the  sect,  in  the  sixth 
century.  The  solitude  sought  by  those  anchorites  of 
old  was  found  by  John  of  Maron  at  the  source  of  the 
Orontes,  or  El-Asi,  north  of  the  table-land  of  the  Bekaa. 
About  five  hundred  paces  from  the  great  spring  of  Ain 
Ezzarka,  shaded  by  aged  plane-trees,  there  rises  a 
perpendicular  cliff,  nearly  three  hundred  feet  high,  which 
commands  the  valley  where  the  river  rushes,  as  if  in 
spate,  over  a  bed  of  rocks. 

Cut  in  the  rock  are  cells  which  once  served  for  a 
laura,  or  settlement  of  hermits,  as  the  earliest  monastic 


A  Druse  Wedding  119 

institutions  were  named.  Within  this  artificial  cavern 
of  three  stories  are  altars,  a  staircase,  and  several  dark, 
diminutive  cells.  From  this  retreat,  called  Der-Mar- 
Maron  (monastery  of  St.  Maron),  the  anchorite  John 
converted  the  people  of  the  Lebanon.  The  earliest 
references  to  the  Maronites  leave  no  doubt  that  they 
were  monothelites,  but  in  the  twelfth  century,  probably 
owing  to  the  influence  of  the  Crusaders,  whom  they 
helped  against  the  Saracens,  they  abjured  their  heresies, 
and  with  their  patriarch  and  some  bishops  joined  the 
Latin  Church.  It  was  not  until  four  centuries  later  that 
their  subjection  to  Rome  was  established,  chiefly  owing 
to  the  influence  of  Maronite  clergy  who  had  been  trained 
in  a  special  college  founded  in  Rome  by  Gregory  XIII., 
and  thus  brought  directly  under  papal  influence. 

They  reserve  to  this  day  certain  privileges  of  ritual, 
and  the  lower  priests  of  the  community  are  allowed  to 
marry.  The  services  are  conducted  in  Syriac,  the 
scripture  lessons  in  Arabic.  In  certain  formulas,  and  one 
special  litany,  are  interspersed  a  few  sentences  in  Greek. 
Their  intellect  is  undeveloped,  for  all  the  theological 
training  they  receive  is  based  on  books  that  have  been 
the  same  for  generations  past,  published  by  their  own 
printing  press  and  the  Arabic  press  in  Rome.  They 
assume  the  teaching  of  these  books  to  be  true,  and  argue 
from  many  fallacies. 

The  monasteries  possess  a  great  portion  of  the  best 
land,  which  the  monks  themselves  cultivate  diligently,  and 
to  great  advantage,  for  it  is  entirely  exempt  from  taxes. 
Rome  has  tried  to  keep  the  Maronites  in  close  touch 


120  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

by  means  of  missionary  work,  chiefly  directed  towards 
education,  the  surest  method  of  instilling  the  influence 
of  Rome  into  Syrian  history  of  the  future.  The 
Maronite  clergy,  though  outwardly  applauding  the  Latins, 
are  jealous,  fearing  that  their  own  influence  may  con¬ 
sequently  deteriorate.  They  still  retain  much  of  their 
native  spirit  of  independence,  which  may  eventually  con¬ 
duce  to  alienation  from  the  papal  sway. 

Since  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  century  Kanobin  has 
been  the  seat  of  the  Maronite  patriarchs.  The  monastery 
stands  in  the  Kadisha  valley,  in  the  heart  of  the  region 
of  Bsherreh,  above  Tripoli  ;  and  near  it,  and  every¬ 
where  in  that  district,  are  prosperous  villages  with  white 
Maronite  churches  and  other  monasteries  of  note,  which 
contain  the  printing  presses  for  their  liturgies  and  the 
works  recently  mentioned. 

Like  the  Druses,  the  Maronites  as  a  race  are  naturally 
bold  and  martial,  still  retaining  much  of  the  truculent 
spirit  of  their  ancestors.  Owing  to  the  massacres 
in  the  Lebanon,  following  the  fearful  outbreak  against 
the  Christians  in  Damascus  in  i860,  when  the  inveterate 
hatred  of  the  Druses  spent  itself  in  fury  upon  the 
Maronites,  the  feeling  of  distrust  has  created  a  spirit 
of  antagonism  and  suspicion  which  is  often  peculiarly 
irritating  to  the  Druse  of  to-day.  More  than  once  when 
we  were  in  the  Lebanon,  the  news  spread  up  to  the 
mountains  of  a  sudden  quarrel  in  the  native  quarters 
of  Beyrout  resulting  in  the  murder  of  a  Christian  by 
a  Druse.  Immediately  the  whole  district  would  be  on 
the  alert,  for  the  aggressor  would  at  once  fly  to  the 


I  2  I 


A  Druse  Wedding 

hills,  and  Lebanon  soldiers  be  sent  out  to  trap  him  in 
every  direction.  Secret  meetings  of  Druses  and  Maronites 
would  be  held  in  the  dead  of  night,  weapons  brought 
surreptitiously  into  the  villages,  precautions  and  counter¬ 
precautions  solemnly  discussed  by  both  communities  alike, 
while  the  guilty  man  all  the  time  would  be  sheltered 
first  in  one  spot,  then  the  other,  by  his  own  supporters, 
and  though  not  hidden  from  his  enemies,  would  remain 
unscathed  for  fear  of  a  greater  calamity  befalling  them 
all  than  the  death,  in  a  fierce  possibly  self-promoted 
quarrel,  of  the  single  Christian. 

Hail  the  day  when  all  of  these  hardy,  independent 
mountaineers  may  live  in  security  under  their  own 
vines  in  the  midst  of  their  mulberry  and  olive  groves, 
bearing  no  malice  one  towards  the  other,  both  com¬ 
munities  freed  alike  from  the  doubtful  protection  of  a 
Turkish  Government. 


VOL.  I 


16 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  CEB  AES  OF  AINZAHALTA  AND  THE  PLAIN 

OF  THE  BEKAA 

ON  the  eve  of  the  day  fixed  upon  for  our  journey 
to  Baalbek  the  weather  changed.  Wind  sprang 
up  followed  by  rain  and  a  terrific  thunderstorm,  which 
when  spent  over  these  heights  of  Lebanon  renewed  its 
force  elsewhere,  as  was  evident  from  the  lightning 
flashes  incessantly  illuminating  the  mountain  horizon¬ 
lines  on  every  side.  Unwilling  to  lose  the  time  entirely, 
we  made  an  excursion  next  day  to  the  small  cedar 
forest  which  could  be  seen  near  the  hill-summit,  high 
above  Ainzahalta  like  a  purple  smudge.  The  wind 
was  still  high,  but  the  sky  promised  fair,  so  in  spite 
of  warnings  that  a  bear  reported  to  be  wandering  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  cedars  had  not  yet  been  tracked  to 
its  lair  by  the  eager  sportsmen,  we  set  out  on  donkeys 
about  nine  o’clock. 

The  difficulty  of  these  highland  rides  has  been 
touched  upon  already,  and  this  particular  track  seemed 
to  excel  them  all  in  roughness,  steepness,  and  rocky 
wildness.  However,  practice  and  also  necessity  quickly 
bring  about  a  certain  sympathy  between  that  most 
agile  and  intelligent  of  beasts,  the  Syrian  donkey,  and 


122 


The  Cedars  of  Ainzahalta  123 

its  rider — a  sympathy  that  helps  the  one  of  them  to 
trust  to  the  other  with  a  confidence  that  is  both  blind 
and  humble.  Have  no  fear  of  an  unwary  slip,  give 
thought  only  to  the  orthodox  attitude  required  respec¬ 
tively  for  ascent  and  descent  of  the  hillside,  give  your 
beast  absolutely  his  own  way,  and  you  will  find  yourself, 
whether  climbing  a  track  steep  as  a  wall,  or  descending 
a  hill  precipitous  as  a  cliff,  imbued  with  one  notion 
only  :  amazement  and  pride  in  your  successful  emulation 
of  the  fly  on  a  window-pane.  For  as  was  mentioned 
before,  the  donkey  or  mule  and  his  rider  become  one. 

Straight  up  the  rugged  track  we  climbed,  after 
quitting  the  ordinary  road,  direct  to  the  ridge  of  the 
mountain,  leaving  the  cedars  somewhat  to  our  left.  Our 
object  was  to  catch  from  this  point  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  plain  of  the  Bekaa,  upon  which  thought  was 
strongly  concentrated  in  advance. 

Overpowering  was  the  first  impression  received  of 
the  broad  plain  at  our  feet  and  the  barrier  of  mountain- 
ridges  on  the  opposite  side. 


Come  with  me  from  Lebanon,  my  bride, 
With  me  from  Lebanon  : 

Look  from  the  top  of  Amana, 

From  the  top  of  Senir  and  Hermon, 
From  the  lions’  dens, 

From  the  mountains  of  the  leopards. 


It  was  the  intervention  of  storm  and  its  effects 
that  had  prepared  this  grandeur  of  prospect  to  be 
viewed  from  Lebanon  across  to  Senir,  and  Hermon, 
and  Amana. 


124  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Mount  Hermon,  which  from  this  standing-point 
should  have  shown  its  three-peaked  crown  above  the 
indigo  ridges  of  Anti-Lebanon,  was  hidden  in  clouds. 
The  cc  dew  of  Hermon  ”  was  falling  thickly  over  the 
whole  mountain,  and  upon  the  plain  stretching  below 
it,  in  a  pearly  sun-touched  shower.  A  deep  yet  vivid 
purple  hue  rested  over  the  wide  placid  valley  like  a 
veil,  through  which  fertile  patches  of  green  and  the 
wandering  stream  of  the  Litani  showed  darkly.  The 
immediate  vicinity  of  this  ridge  of  the  Jebel  Baruk  on 
which  we  stood  was  bathed  in  sunlight  that  touched 
to  gold  the  brown,  burnt  soil,  and  to  silver  the  scattered 
grey  rocks. 

To  the  left  over  the  mountain-edge,  drifting  up 
from  the  valleys  behind  us,  wafted  the  mist  in  a  great 
vapoury  cloud  which  dipped  to  the  plain  below.  Swung 
across  this  luminous  background  from  hill-top  to  valley 
was  a  brilliant  rainbow — 

Glittering  like  crescents  o’er  a  Turk’s  pavilion, 

And  blending  every  colour  into  one. 

Our  muleteers  took  us  back  to  the  cedars  by  a  short 
cut  known  to  themselves  alone,  where  there  was  no 
pretence  of  any  track  at  all,  only  a  wilderness  of  stones, 
crags,  and  precipitous  slopes  which  tried  to  the  utmost 
the  dexterity  of  our  beasts.  The  scattered  forest  we 
entered  was  similar  in  many  respects  to  the  one  already 
visited  on  the  heights  above  Baruk  village.  The  ground 
between  the  trees  was  massed  with  rocks  of  a  pure 
grey  colour,  and  perforated  all  over  like  the  honeycomb. 


The  Cedars  of  Ainzahalta  125 

There  were  great  boulders  with  small  pinnacles  on  them, 
and  rocks  of  all  sizes  and  shapes  clustering  in  heaps 
arranged,  as  if  with  method,  in  circles  and  other  forms 
reminiscent  of  Stonehenge  and  Dartmoor.  The  soil  in 
which  they  were  embedded  was  red,  and  thickly  strewn 
with  cedar-needles. 

Between  the  trees,  which  showed  up  dark  green  as 
the  myrtle,  rolled  the  fog,  seeming  to  breathe  as  it 

expanded  and  contracted,  alternately  blown  lightly  into 
a  texture  of  gossamer  transparency,  and  opaque,  yet 
always  evanescent,  mist.  The  branches  spread  out  in  the 
same  familiar  roof-like  layers,  upon  which  lay  tiny  baby 
cones  the  colour  of  madder  tipped  with  orange. 

The  fog  began  to  close  in  like  rain  or  a  thick 

Scotch  mist,  and  from  beyond  the  trees  came  the  sound 
of  thunder  rolling  from  hill  to  hill.  The  mukari 
hastened  to  collect  fuel  for  the  inevitable  fire,  which 

they  kindled  in  the  first  place  with  dry  twigs  and  paper 

stored  with  forethought  in  the  saddle-bags.  The  u  tchai  ” 
again  loomed  cheerily  to  their  imagination  as  the  reward 
of  their  labours,  together  with  the  residue  of  the  Inglizi 
provisions. 

Between  the  rocks  in  a  sheltered  nook  we  spread 
the  contents  of  the  hamper,  always  made  ready  with 
generous  hand  for  these  expeditions  by  our  hostess  of 
the  locanda  Najoum.  In  the  solitudes  of  these  vestiges 
of  the  great  cedar-forests  that  once  clothed  Lebanon  as 
with  a  goodly  garment  we  made  a  homely  nook,  though 
be  it  openly  confessed  there  were  moments  when  I 
glanced  around  with  a  feeling  of  apprehension  lest  a 


126  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

vision  of  the  suggested  bear  stalking  as  uninvited  guest 
to  the  feast  should  loom  bigly  through  the  hedging  mist. 

At  intervals  the  sky  cleared  right  along  the  ridge. 
In  one  of  these  interludes  I  walked  to  the  edge  of  the 
slope  descending  ruggedly  from  our  feet,  and  suddenly, 
as  I  stood  there  looking  west,  the  veil  uplifted  from 
the  valley  far  beyond  and  below,  with  beautiful  lights 
throwing  up  in  radiant  relief  pine-forests  on  distant 
slopes,  vineyards,  dark-mouthed  ravines,  and  the  little 
village  from  which  we  had  set  out  early  in  the 
morning,  and  beyond  all  a  gleaming  stretch  of  silver 
at  what  looked,  from  afar,  the  edge  of  the  world  :  the 
Mediterranean  sea.  There  was  a  delicious  odour  in  the 
air.  The  soughing  of  the  wide-spreading  branches  was 
to  the  ear  like  the  sound  of  surge  on  the  seashore. 
Through  it  all  sounded  up  from  that  far-away  upland 
valley  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  mellow  and  limpid  in  tone. 

Then  the  mist  cleared  between  the  cedars  and  on 
the  slope,  which  was  stratified  in  slanting  ridges.  Under¬ 
wood  of  live  oak  grew  between  the  rocks  ;  the  greyish 
branches  of  small  shrubs  bearing  red  berries  rambled 
over  the  stony  soil.  The  yellow  of  the  crocus  made 
a  strong  note  of  colour  against  the  pure  grey  of  the 
rocky  debris. 

The  descent  from  the  forest  was  a  difficult  ride,  the 
stones  so  irregular  and  large  in  the  track — a  mere  torrent- 
bed — that  riding  downstairs  would  have  been  easy  in 
comparison. 

The  next  morning  it  was  still  misty  and  inclined  to 
rain,  but  delay  longer  in  setting  out  for  Baalbek  we 


The  Cedars  of  Ainzahalta  127 

would  not.  We  had  arranged  to  send  heavy  luggage 
by  baggage-mules  to  Beyrout,  and  take  with  us  to 
Baalbek  only  as  much  light  luggage  as  an  extra  donkey 
could  carry  to  the  station  of  Ain  Sofar.  For  we 
had  decided  to  ride  to  the  station  by  a  track  cutting 
over  the  hills,  a  route  new  to  us,  rather  than  return  on 
the  carriage  road  already  familiar. 

Before  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  below  Ainzahalta 
the  mist  crept  up  to  meet  us  drawing  clammy  fingers 
over  the  whole  landscape.  Like  a  shroud  it  dropped 
over  the  bare  peaks  around,  clinging  to  the  ridges  with 
shadowy  persistency.  As  we  crossed  the  bridge  by  the 
turbulent  millstream  down  the  narrow  gorge  to  the 
left,  the  wind  came  sweeping  with  concentrated  power. 
It  caught  the  vapoury  filaments  in  transit,  and  drew 
them  round  the  glen  like  an  invisible  hand  to  form 
an  opaque  veil  for  the  rocky  slope.  Our  path  then 
branched  off  from  the  high-road  through  a  forest  of  young 
pines,  climbing  circuitously  up  the  steep  ascent,  the  brown- 
madder  hue  of  the  soil  under  the  trees  looking  rich 
and  warm. 

The  mules  picked  their  way  nimbly  over  stones 
and  clods  of  earth,  clipping  the  ground  with  secure 
footing.  Steeper  and  wilder  grew  the  upward  track 
until  the  pines  were  out-distanced  and  a  wilderness  of 
rocks  and  chaotic  debris  of  stone  was  entered  upon. 
In  and  between  the  stones  wound  the  track,  down  a 
pebble-strewn  trough  in  the  hillside,  where  the  glisten 
of  trickling  water  already  indicated  the  birth  of  winter 
torrents, 


128  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Down  came  the  rain  in  streams  as  we  mounted  a 
steep  defile  between  towering  boulders  balanced  high 
overhead  in  top-heavy  confusion,  while  under-foot  the 
big  stones  and  rocks  formed  an  irregular  natural 
staircase  up  which  the  beasts  clambered  with  painful, 
cautious  step,  head  and  ears  indicating  close  attention  to 
the  difficult  task.  Finally  we  dismounted  and  took 
shelter  beneath  an  overhanging  rock  until  the  rain 
subsided  and  only  the  mist  remained. 

The  whole  savagery  of  that  muleteer  track  over  hill 
and  through  glen  to  Ain  Sofar  is  not  easy  to  forget  ; 
such  views  of  mountain  gorges  and  distant  mountain- 
summits  with  towering  rocks,  varied  with  glimpses  of 
luxuriant  vine  and  orchard-filled  dales  apparently  miles 
below.  And  all  the  while  one  bore  in  mind  the  fact  that 
these  highlands  of  Lebanon  were  4,000  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea.  In  the  most  remote  and  wildest  recess 
of  the  rocky  passes  through  which  we  rode  stood  a 
Druse  khalweh  beneath  a  shelving  cliff.  It  was  a  small 
square  structure  with  a  white-domed  roof,  and  looked 
curiously  like  a  mausoleum  isolated  for  some  solemn 
purpose  to  this  spot  of  seclusion. 

The  whole  ride  occupied  the  space  of  three  hours. 
The  sun  was  shining  when  we  gained  the  railroad  and 
entered  the  train,  but  not  before  we  had  snatched  a 
moment  to  obtain  a  thimbleful  of  scalding  coffee  to 
warm  our  chilled  blood.  Our  fellow-travellers  were  two 
Syrians  and  an  elderly  sheikh,  a  green-turbaned  descendant 
of  the  Prophet,  who  were  also  en  route  for  Baalbek, 
having  already  journeyed  all  the  way  from  Jerusalem. 


The  Plain  of  the  Bekaa 


129 


Viewed  from  any  point  of  the  Lebanon  range,  the 
plain  of  the  Bekaa,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  with 
Anti-Lebanon  for  its  eastern  boundary,  comes  before 
the  spectator  upon  first  sight  as  a  revelation.  The  aspect 
of  peace  and  world-remoteness  is  intensified  by  contrast 
with  the  distracting  succession  of  mountain-passes,  rugged 
heights  seamed  with  ravines  and  precipitous  torrent-beds, 
the  sections  of  pine-clad  slopes  and  peaks  alternating 
with  shaly  eminences  through  which  the  traveller  from 
the  seaboard  must  pass  before  the  view  of  the  beautiful 
plain,  spreading  north  and  south  with  a  space  of  ten 
miles  between  its  mountain  barriers,  bursts  unexpectedly 
upon  the  gaze  like  a  material  embodiment  of  the  dream 
valley  of  Rasselas. 

At  El-Muallaka  the  first  station  at  the  foot  of  the 
Lebanon  mountains  we  alighted,  and  took  seats  in  one 
of  the  waiting  diligences  ;  this  was  an  ordinary  four- 
wheeled  vehicle  with  seats  for  four  people  facing  each 
other,  a  sun  awning  overhead.  We  proved  to  be  the 
only  passengers,  so  it  served  the  purpose  of  a  private 
carriage.  The  drive  was  lengthy,  taking  in  all  four 
hours  and  a  half. 

Zahleh,  the  most  flourishing  town  of  the  district  of 
Lebanon,  is  divided  from  El-Muallaka  by  a  narrow  lane 
only,  though  the  latter  village  is  in  the  vilayet  of  Syria. 
The  road  emerged  from  the  town  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  in  the  midst  of  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of  its 
environs.  Passing  through  vineyards  where  the  thick 
arches  of  the  trailing  fruit-stems  bend  low  under  their 
luscious  burden  of  purple  grapes,  and  then  emerging 
vol.  1  17 


130  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

on  the  open  plain,  that  first  impression  of  peace  and 
repose  is  confirmed  by  the  new  sensation  of  full-breathed 
freedom,  following  upon  the  narrow  passes,  and  in¬ 
surmountable  barriers  of  the  mountain  journey. 

For  miles  ahead  was  seen  the  ashen  face  of  the  high¬ 
way,  running  in  gentle  curves  between  the  diminishing 
hill  walls  to  the  far  horizon,  where  all  seemed  in  con¬ 
junction  with  the  sky-line  to  melt  into  infinity.  East 
and  west  lay  the  hills  in  mellow  atmospheric  retreat, 
the  wooded,  undulating  slopes  of  Lebanon  and  the  arid 
stretches  of  Anti-Lebanon  both  merging  alike  after  a 
gradual  ascent  from  the  plain  into  rock-seamed,  lofty 
barriers  against  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky.  Flat-roofed 
villages,  so  remote  on  the  even  surface  that  they  seemed 
to  consist  of  toy  houses,  nested  in  wooded  glens  or  stood 
out  on  small  plateaux  of  the  foot-hills.  Other  hamlets 
circled  in  isolated  distinction  at  some  distance  from  the 
road. 

The  warm  tone  of  the  soil  against  the  pink  and 
lavender  hues  of  the  hills,  with  the  cerulean  dome 
overhead,  made  the  landscape  full  of  charm  and  colour 
even  under  the  autumnal  condition  of  harvest-gleaned 
tracks  of  grass  and  corn  and  the  scantiness  of  vegetation 
and  flora,  save  where  fruit-trees  and  poplars  made  oases 
of  the  villages,  or  parched  thistle  and  herbage  grew  in 
detached  clumps. 

A  waving  line  of  low  shrubs  and  dwarf  willows 
meandered  southward,  indicating  the  wooded  banks  of 
the  River  Litani  (more  familiar  to  Western  ears  under  its 
ancient  name  of  Leontes),  which  we  had  viewed  on  the 


The  Plain  of  the  Bekaa  13 1 

previous  day  from  the  heights  of  Jebel  Baruk.  If 
attractive  with  a  beauty  unique  to  itself  under  these  un¬ 
favourable  conditions  of  season  and  drought,  what  must 
not  the  prospect  have  presented  at  that  period  of  the 
world’s  history,  when  earth  contained  no  more  fertile  spot 
than  this  table-land  of  the  Bekaa,  known  to  the  ancients 
as  Caele-Syria  (hollow  Syria),  though  the  name  also 
included  all  the  district  south  of  Seleucia  with  the  ex¬ 
ception  of  Phoenicia. 

Half-way  to  Baalbek  we  drew  up  by  a  wayside 
khan.  It  was  a  small,  low  building,  fronted  by  a  court 
or  garden  enclosed  by  a  wooden  fence,  within  which 
were  a  number  of  small  tables  and  chairs.  The  Greek 
proprietor  came  out  to  greet  us  with  effusion  and  urge 
us  to  partake  of  refreshment.  Within  the  cafe  we  found 
a  small  supply  of  aerated  waters,  and  native  drinks, 
also  a  glass-doored  cupboard  disclosing  to  view  biscuits, 
chocolate,  and  a  variety  of  tinned  and  bottled  comestibles. 
With  biscuits  and  a  liqueur-glass  of  arack  taken  as  a 
precaution  against  cold  after  the  stormy  experience  of 
the  morning,  we  retired  to  a  table  in  the  open  air.  As 
we  sat  there  an  Arab  rider  passed  on  a  beautiful  grey 
thoroughbred. 

Suddenly  he  turned  up  to  the  side  of  the  fence, 
sprang  from  his  horse,  throwing  the  reins  to  a  bystander, 
and  walked  into  the  garden.  He  was  one  of  the  native 
police  who  patrol  the  route  and  its  vicinity  between  El- 
Muallaka  and  Baalbek.  He  wore  a  white  keffiyeh, 
bound  with  the  rope-like  agal,  a  short  fawn-coloured  over¬ 
coat,  coloured  vest,  and  national  full  trousers.  His  gait  and 


132  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

movements  were  free  and  assured  ;  he  had  the  bearing, 
in  a  word,  of  a  ruler,  whether  of  a  kingdom,  a  house¬ 
hold,  or  only  a  horse .  And  this  was  quite  in  order, 
for  does  not  even  the  proud  owner  of  a  Syrian  donkey 
bestride  his  broad  saddle  of  brightly  striped  hues  with 
the  lordly  dignity  of  the  monarch  of  a  realm,  or  of 
an  Alexander  ? 

After  a  private  conversation  with  the  Greek  proprietor 
he  walked  to  and  fro  with  swinging  steps,  scanning 
the  passengers,  of  which  others  than  ourselves  had  now 
arrived  in  a  second  well-filled  diligence.  Then  he 
disappeared  behind  the  carriages,  dragging  our  driver 
away  with  an  air  of  mystery. 

“Faddal !”  called  this  native  driver,  returning  suddenly 
to  his  horses’  heads,  taking  the  nosebags  away,  and 
preparing  to  start.  We  were  soon  speeding  along  the 
dusty  road,  which  a  little  distance  farther  on  was  in 
process  of  repair  by  scores  of  natives.  A  section  of 
the  highway  looked  as  if  a  river  in  flood  had  swept 
along  its  course  and  washed  it  completely  away.  Later 
we  ascertained  that  there  had  been  a  terrific  storm  a 
few  days  earlier — a  storm  which  had  brought  flood, 
destroying  many  cattle,  as  well  as  the  road,  and  drowning 
two  men.  But  of  recent  tempest  there  was  no  evidence 
now  in  the  sky  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  nearer  we  approached 
to  Baalbek  the  more  superb  the  weather. 

Along  the  route  we  passed  many  camels,  Bedawin 
and  Syrian  travellers  on  foot,  donkey  or  horseback.  All 
at  once  a  rider  on  a  fleet  light-coloured  horse  sped  by 
like  the  wind.  Who  was  the  rider?  Not  he  who  had 


The  Plain  of  the  Bekaa 


133 


alighted  at  the  cafe,  for  the  keffiyeh  was  bright  in  colour, 
though  the  horse  was  evidently  the  same.  For  the 
first  time  we  observed  that  the  original  rider  of  the  grey 
horse  was  on  the  box-seat  of  our  carriage  taking  a  turn 
at  handling  the  reins  of  a  team  of  three  driven  abreast. 
He  seemed  gay  and  highly  delighted  with  his  own 
achievement,  especially  after  our  discovery  of  the  exchange 
of  drivers.  Not  knowing  at  the  time  that  the  man  was 
one  of  the  mounted  police,  his  appearance  resembling 
that  of  an  Arab  sheikh,  I  asked  myself  if  this  was  the 
prelude  to  a  play  not  reckoned  upon  in  our  plans  for 
this  expedition. 

The  road  still  stretched  like  a  broad  undulating  ribbon 
to  the  horizon.  The  little  villages  were  so  distant  that 
our  immediate  surroundings  seemed  weirdly  desolate 
and  wild.  But  signs  of  life  soon  became  visible.  To 
the  left  wandering  at  random  over  the  stubble  were  large 
troops  of  cattle.  There  were  camels,  mules,  horses,  and 
sheep,  all  roving  at  will  in  search  of  toothsome  provender, 
though  the  barren  surface,  innocent  of  all  growth  but 
burnt-up  thistles,  promised  but  a  sorry  fare  for  their  pains. 

To  whom  did  these  straying  beasts  belong  ?  A 
glance  to  the  right  of  the  highway  showed  heterogeneous 
clusters  of  small  black  structures  so  far  out  on  the  plain 
as  to  look  from  the  road  like  large  black  ant-hills. 
There  were  hundreds  of  them  spread  in  every  direction, 
and  doll-like  figures  moving  among  them  and  over  the 
plain  with  a  few  straying  donkeys  and  horses.  Looming 
nearer  to  sight  as  we  advanced,  the  ant-hills  assumed 
shape  and  size  ;  they  were  Bedawin  tents  in  great 


134 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 


numbers  ;  the  encampment,  unusually  large,  belonged  to 
a  wealthy  sheikh,  head  of  an  important  tribe  possessing 
many  camels. 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  road  a  dense  crowd  of 
people  was  massed  in  circular  form.  They  were  moving 
excitedly,  shouting  loudly  and  shrilly  ;  clangour  of  native 
music  echoed  across  to  the  diligence.  Our  impromptu 
driver  stopped  the  vehicle.  There  was  a  moment  of 
suspense  as  he  swung  with  a  laugh  from  the  box  to 
the  road.  The  real  driver  of  the  carriage  jumped  from 
the  horse.  Then  the  Syrian  gendarme  mounted  with  a 
display  of  much  mannerism — as  before  a  fitting  audience 
of  admiring  foreigners — stared  inquisitively  into  both 
carriages,  and  the  next  moment  was  careering  at  mad 
speed  across  the  flat  to  the  motley  crowd  before  the 
Bedawin  camp.  He  waved  his  arm  with  histrionic 
gesture  of  farewell  as  his  horse  plunged  forward. 

For  a  moment  the  carriage  halted,  the  driver  on 
his  feet  gazing  with  open-mouthed  curiosity  after  his 
vanishing  friend.  Then  we  set  out  again  on  the  never- 
ending  road.  A  mile  farther  on  again  came  the  rapid 
clatter  of  hoofs  behind  us,  and  soon  overtaking  our 
steadily  trotting  team,  the  rider  slackened  pace  on  a  line 
with  the  carriage  and  bent  low  with  a  smile  of  salutation. 
It  was  the  same  rider  as  before,  the  same  grey  horse. 
He  talked  in  hurried  tones  to  the  driver,  who  soon 
turned  round  to  us  with  a  beaming  face. 

“  It  is  a  bride,”  he  said  in  Arabic.  “  There  is  a 
wedding.” 

Both  men  regarded  us  with  mien  of  smiling  suspense 


Relics  of  the  Great  Temple  of  the  Sun. 


The  Plain  of  the  Befcaa 


135 


as  we  looked  back  to  the  encampment,  now  far  in  the 
distance.  u  Franghi  ”  backsheesh  in  return  for  a  view 
of  the  Bedawin  wedding  hovered  in  their  imagination. 
But  we  were  too  tired  to  return  and  take  advantage 
of  the  invitation  brought  to  us  from  the  camp.  The 
rider  rode  with  us  for  a  short  distance,  giving  us  frequent 
friendly  smiles,  his  white  keffiyeh  floating  gaily  in  the 
breeze,  then  he  disappeared  by  magic.  What  became 
of  him  I  know  not,  but  he  was  nowhere  visible  when 
my  eyes  scanned  the  open  plain  a  few  minutes  after  he 
rode  away. 

A  mile  from  our  goal — the  town  of  Baalbek — a  small 
solitary  edifice  which  had  been  visible  from  a  long  way 
off*  stood  back  from  the  road  on  a  flat  stretch  of  stubble- 
land.  It  was  a  modern  weli  built  of  ancient  materials 
carried  from  the  Acropolis.  The  shape  was  octagonal 
with  eight  beautiful  pillars  that  had  once  supported  a  dome, 
now  fallen  in.  A  sarcophagus  which  had  been  placed 
erect  between  two  of  the  columns  as  a  prayer-niche 
was  prone  with  the  ground.  The  boundary  of  the  old 
Roman  ramparts  of  the  town  extended  as  nearly  as 
possible  to  this  point  on  the  plain. 

Though  so  near  to  the  journey’s  end  the  solitude 
everywhere  was  marked.  The  only  signs  of  life  were 
the  vanishing  figure  of  a  horseman  speeding  south  and 
an  occasional  faint  cry  arising  from  the  densely  wooded 
environs  which  concealed  all  of  the  little  town  of  Baalbek 
lying  under  the  hill  except  the  six  columns  of  the 
Acropolis,  which  rear  their  queenly  stature  above  the 
undulating  forest  of  slender  poplars  and  other  trees. 


136  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

We  drew  up  at  the  Hotel  Palmyra  about  six  o’clock. 
The  landlord,  M.  Pericli  Mimikaki,  was  Greek,  as 
betrayed  by  his  name.  The  ruins  of  the  temples  of 
Baalbek  were  in  the  hands  of  the  German  Exploration 
Society,  and  the  German  architects  sent  by  Government 
to  conduct  operations  were  for  the  moment  the  sole 
guests  at  the  hotel  besides  ourselves.  The  hours  I 
spent  indoors  were  passed  upstairs  in  the  big  lewan, 
which  had  a  glass  front  and  doors  leading  on  to  a 
balcony.  Before  the  open  door  I  often  placed  a  small 
table  for  writing  and  sat  facing  the  exquisite  pillars 
of  the  Acropolis,  which  rose  behind  a  foreground  of 
tall  poplars  and  brushwood.  Beyond  were  the  Lebanon 
hills  as  amethystine  in  colour  as  the  mountains  of  Moab, 
as  dimpled  and  wrinkled  as  the  Sussex  downs,  or,  to 
be  more  accurate,  the  hills  of  California. 

Below  the  balcony  was  a  small  garden  with  high 
railings  between  ancient  pillars  which  were  found  on 
the  site  of  this  hotel.  The  ancient  edifice  standing  there 
was  destroyed  by  flood,  and  from  excavations  made 
when  building  the  hotel,  and  some  inscriptions  found, 
it  is  supposed  that  the  house  belonged  to  Zenedore,  a 
tetrarch  of  Abylene.  Other  interesting  relics  discovered 
by  M.  Mimikaki  have  been  sent  to  the  museum  at 
Constantinople. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  SUN 

FROM  time  unknown  Baalbek,  the  most  famous 
town  of  Caele-Syria,  situated  under  the  brow  of 
a  low  spur  of  Anti-Lebanon,  has  been  named  after  the 
sun-god,  to  whose  liberal  favours  of  life-giving  golden 
rays  the  inhabitants  attributed  the  prosperity  and  fertility 
of  their  country.  To  the  Romans  it  was  Heliopolis, 
a  name  abandoned  after  the  conquest  of  Syria  by  the 
Arabs,  who  again  took  up  the  ancient  appellation  of 
Baalbek. 

In  the  myths  of  Phoenicia  to  Baalbek  is  accorded 
the  position  of  the  most  important  centre  for  the  worship 
of  Baal.  This  gave  it  an  authoritative  standing  that 
was  purely  sacerdotal  according  to  some  traditions,  to 
others  one  of  active  prosperity  by  reason  of  its  advan¬ 
tageous  site  on  the  caravan  route  passing  up  the  plain, 
through  the  entrance  to  Hamath,  to  Tripoli,  Antioch, 
and  other  important  cities.  At  any  rate,  though  the 
magnificent  ruins  of  the  ancient  temple,  which  render 
Baalbek  to  lovers  of  antique  architecture  the  most 
interesting  spot  in  Syria,  are,  according  to  the  latest 
investigations,  entirely  of  Graeco-Roman  origin,  it  is 
admitted  that  the  edifices  were  undoubtedly  erected  on 

137  18 


VOL.  1 


138  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

a  site  that  had  previously  been  sacred  to  the  worship 
of  Baal,  and  from  which  the  town  derived  its  name 
in  ancient  days,  far  antedating  the  Roman  occupation 
by  Julius  Caesar,  47  b.c. 

Quite  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  century  Baalbek 
ranked  as  the  first  city  in  Syria,  a  fact  recorded  by 
Ptolemy  the  geographer,  who  adds  that  it  was  here 
that  Trajan  Caesar  consulted  the  Oracle  of  the  Sun 
with  regard  to  an  expedition  against  the  Parthians. 
In  view  of  this  statement,  and  the  later  evidence 
of  the  two  temples — the  great  Temple  of  the  Sun 
and  the  smaller  Temple  of  Jupiter — which  placed  the 
date  of  construction  at  the  end  of  the  second  and 
beginning  of  the  third  centuries,  it  is  certain  that 
prior  celebrity  for  being  a  site  peculiarly  sacred  to  the 
sun-god  worship  led  to  its  selection  for  the  erection 
of  the  famous  buildings  begun  by  the  Roman  emperor 
Antoninus  Pius  (Caracalla),  and  finished  and  embellished 
by  his  successors. 

Many  interesting  speculations  are  woven  from  tradition 
respecting  the  early  origin  of  Baalbek.  The  whole  plain 
abounds  in  legends  that  assert  its  occupation  by  Noah 
and  his  sons  after  the  Flood.  The  tomb  of  Noah,  of  an 
enormous  length — tradition  makes  all  the  mighty  men 
of  yore  to  be  giants — is  shown  in  an  old  mosque  near 
Zahleh.  Cain  figures  in  these  stories  as  a  hero  of  distant 
antiquity,  and  is  asserted  to  have  built  Baalbek  as 
a  fortress  of  protection  after  the  pronouncement  of  the 
curse. 

Nimrod  was  the  next  giant  of  tradition  connected 


i39 


The  City  of  the  Sun 

with  the  building  and  prosperity  of  the  town.  The  land 
of  Shinar  is  declared  to  have  been  the  plain  of  the 
Bekaa,  and  the  ambitious  leader  of  the  builders  of 
the  Tower  of  Babel — so  named  in  honour  of  the  god 
Baal — Nimrod  himself.  King  of  Libanus.  This  story, 
by  the  way,  contradicts  the  myth  which  connects  his 
name  with  Babylon,  with  Abraham,  and  the  Chaldaeans, 
as  related  at  length  in  the  Koran. 

Following  other  traditional  data,  the  name  of  Solomon 
is  the  next  of  importance.  Suggestion  makes  Baalbek 
one  of  the  store-cities  he  built  in  Hamath  (2  Chron. 
viii.  4),  a  name  which  applied  to  the  whole  district,  as 
well  as  the  city  of  Hamath.  For  the  edge  of  the 
Palmyrean  desert,  still  believed  by  many  to  be  identical 
with  the  wilderness  of  Tadmor,  is  only  a  day’s  walk 
from  Baalbek.  Solomon  is  also  credited  with  the 
erection  of  a  splendid  temple  to  Baal,  for  the  purpose 
of  gratifying  his  wives’  proclivities  for  strange  gods. 
This  story  would  accord  with  another  tradition  which 
relates  that  the  wise  king  caused  to  be  built  at  Baalbek 
a  splendid  palace  for  Balkis,  Queen  of  Sheba.  It  was 
this  Temple  of  Baal,  we  are  told,  that  the  Phoenicians 
in  later  years  made  the  religious  centre  for  feasts  of 
renown,  attracting  innumerable  worshippers  at  certain 
seasons  of  the  year  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  after 
the  same  fashion  that  the  festival  of  the  Greek  Easter 
draws  thousands  of  pilgrims  to  witness  the  perennial 
mock-miracle  of  the  holy  fire  in  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre  in  Jerusalem. 

Through  the  splendours  of  the  Phoenician  era  and 


140  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

the  dynasty  of  the  Greek  Seleucidas,  tradition  preserved 
the  reputation  of  a  sacred  town,  while  under  the  Roman 
domination  the  building  of  the  great  Temple  of  the 
Sun  and  Temple  of  Jupiter  established  a  durable  fame 
which  the  mere  view  of  the  majestic  relics  makes  promptly 
appreciable. 

Under  Mohammedan  rule  the  character  of  the  town 
changed  to  one  of  industrial  activity  celebrated  for 
certain  local  manufactures.  The  temples  were  converted 
into  fortresses,  the  old  Roman  ramparts  allowed  to  fall 
into  decay,  and  their  debris  was  used  to  build  an  Arab 
town-wall  of  considerably  reduced  area.  Arabic  historians 
of  that  period  and  other  epochs  unite  in  praise  of  the 
beauty  and  antiquity  of  Baalbek,  and  lay  stress  on  the 
abundance  of  streams,  fine  gardens  and  trees  in 
the  environment  ;  they  make  mention  of  mosques,  other 
sacred  buildings,  of  schools  and  markets. 

Baalbek  has  been  besieged,  pillaged  at  least  a  dozen 
times,  visited  by  one  earthquake,  in  1158,  that  overturned 
houses,  destroyed  ramparts,  fortress,  and  a  great  part 
of  the  temples,  by  another  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and 
a  very  destructive  one  again  in  1750.  Disastrous  floods 
from  time  to  time,  especially  one  in  1318,  have  occasioned 
losses  of  life  and  property  quite  irreparable.  The  quarrels 
and  petty  warfare  with  neighbouring  princes  of  the  ruling 
Farfouche  emirs,  in  addition  to  the  impoverishing  effect 
of  so  many  successive  wars  and  physical  catastrophes, 
reduced  Baalbek  from  its  position  of  the  most  affluent 
town  in  Syria  to  the  present  obscure  and  modest  status. 
It  would  long  ago  have  ceased  to  be  visited  or  known 


THE  COLOSSAL  STONE  IN  THE  ANCIENT  QUARRY,  BAALBEK 


rv  a 


I 


✓ 


. 


' 


The  City  of  the  Sun  14 1 

to  travellers  from  the  West  were  it  not  for  the  fame 
of  the  gigantic  fragments  reminiscent  and  mutely  eloquent 
of  a  splendid  vanished  past. 

What  of  the  Baalbek  of  to-day  ?  Follow  the  road 
leading  towards  the  town  until  it  passes  between  the 
trees  with  a  wall  on  the  left,  and  a  copse  of  nut-trees 
and  olives  filling  a  lengthy  hollow  below  the  level  of 
the  highway.  Beyond  this  wood  a  pathway  turns  abruptly 
off  the  road  to  the  right,  and  curving  backward  as  it 
ascends  the  slope  of  the  hill  leads  to  a  disused  quarry 
which  shows  traces  of  tremendous  labour  wrought  in 
its  massive  sides  during  ages  of  long  ago. 

It  is  the  ancient  quarry  from  which  the  Cyclopean 
blocks  used  in  building  the  temples  were  hewn.  To 
this  day  there  lies  a  colossal  specimen  of  the  stones, 
named  Hajar-el-nubla  from  a  legend  related  by  the 
natives.  It  is  perfectly  shaped  but  not  separated  from 
the  rock  ;  it  is  seventy-one  feet  in  length,  fourteen  feet 
high,  thirteen  feet  wide,  and  in  weight  about  twelve 
hundred  tons.  These  prodigious  dimensions  are  not 
appreciable  from  afar,  but  approach  and  stand  beside 
it,  feeling  yourself  in  comparison  a  veritable  midget,  and 
then  only  wonder  and  awe  are  aroused  in  the  mind  as 
to  the  means  by  which  its  fellows  have  been  transported 
to  the  enclosure  wall  of  the  Great  Temple,  where  they 
still  stand  as  firmly  set  as  at  the  period  of  construction. 
The  whole  matter  is  one  over  which  countless  speculations 
have  been  formulated,  but  it  remains  a  mystery  to  this 
hour. 

The  whole  quarried  excavation  is  strewn  with  half- 


1 4 2  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

shaped  blocks  in  process  for  building  purposes,  and  left 
untouched  since  the  days  when  the  whole  area  resounded 
with  the  blows  struck  upon  the  rock  by  the  myriads  of 
slaves  experiencing  as  severe  a  bondage  as  the  Israelites 
did  in  Egypt,  in  order  to  raise  to  their  conquerors’  gods 
a  temple  considered  through  all  the  ages  as  one  of  the 
marvels  of  the  world.  Here  and  there  among  the  littered 
debris  are  oblong  troughs  cut  in  the  bed-rock.  These 
are  ancient  tombs  which  may  once  have  held  the  bodies 
of  persecuted  Christian  slaves  and  other  toilers,  when 
they  succumbed  to  the  herculean  tasks  imposed  upon 
them. 

Viewed  from  the  pathway  which  runs  round  the 
side  of  the  cliff  over  against  the  giant  stone,  there  are 
still  indications  of  massive  battlements  on  the  rock 
escarpment  showing  that  the  Roman  rampart  skirted  these 
ancient  quarries,  and  passed  along  the  ridge  of  the  hill 
behind  the  town.  As  one  mounts  the  winding  path 
there  can  be  seen  to  the  right  a  white-domed  weli  of 
modern  erection  standing  on  a  levelled  terrace  of  rock 
in  quiet  retreat.  Close  by  it,  built  into  the  rocky  sides 
of  the  hill,  are  a  few  native  dwellings  only  distinguishable 
in  hue  from  their  stony  background  upon  near  approach. 

Still  the  hill  ascended  as  I  walked  along  the  ridge 
until  near  the  summit  of  what  is  known  as  the  knoll 
of  Sheikh  Abdallah,  a  small  ruined  building  near  a  lonely 
tree,  called  for  attention.  The  platform  on  which  it  had 
been  erected  was  one  fashioned  in  crescent  shape  out 
of  the  hillside,  the  rocks  standing  out  on  both  sides 
of  the  plain  square  facade.  A  small  flight  of  steps 


H3 


The  City  of  the  Sun 

led  into  the  interior.  Above  the  portal  was  an  Arab 
inscription  which  showed  that  this  was  the  Hubbet-el- 
Amjad,  or  cupola  of  Amjad,  the  king  who  caused  the 
building  to  be  erected.  Higher  still  there  were  arched 
openings  in  the  wall.  Fluted  pilasters  built  into  the 
walls  showed  that  the  little  mosque  had  been  put  together 
from  ancient  materials  used  in  an  earlier  edifice.  The 
floor  of  the  interior  was  strewn  and  heaped  with  blocks 
and  stones  that  had  fallen  from  the  ruined  cupola  and 
ornamental  headstones. 

Seated  upon  one  of  the  massive  blocks  of  rocks 
scattered  in  front  of  the  Hubbet-el-Amjad,  I  looked  down 
upon  the  town  of  Baalbek  and  received  impression  of 
its  general  aspect  in  the  present  day.  It  was  a  view 
that  after  a  short  period  of  time  would  never  be  quite 
the  same  again,  for  the  railway  was  swiftly  approaching. 
The  director  of  the  constructive  and  engineering  opera¬ 
tions  had  fixed  upon  a  site  for  the  Baalbek  station 
about  half  a  mile  away  from  the  town.  With  right 
sentiment  of  reverence  for  the  noble  ruins  of  the  Acropolis, 
he  planned  that  the  railway  line  should  pass  behind 
the  forest  of  green  trees  out  on  the  plain.  So  blind 
were  the  inhabitants  to  what  constitutes  the  great  charm 
of  their  old  world-renowned  town  that  no  sooner  did 
they  hear  of  this  arrangement  than  they  drew  up  a 
petition  and  sent  it  to  the  Governor-General  of  the 
vilayet  begging  with  great  urgency  that  the  railway 
station  should  be  constructed  right  in  their  very  centre. 

And  they  won  their  desire,  as  far  as  the  requisite 
concession  was  concerned. 


144  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Embedded  in  the  hill-slope  stretching  from  my  feet, 
as  if  overtaken  in  the  rushing  debris  of  a  big  landslip, 
were  great  rocks,  sprinkled  with  velvety  lichen  of  deep 
sienna  and  purple  shades.  Below  these  was  a  bare 
grey  descent  extending  down  to  the  Syrian-built  cottages 
and  houses  uniform  in  colour  with  the  dusty  soil,  which 
the  winds  from  the  east  had  whirled  in  powdery  showers 
over  the  level  roof  and  low  walls.  In  somewhat  jarring 
contrast  to  the  native  dwellings,  which  are  in  harmony 
of  tone  and  structure  with  the  old-world  impression 
of  environment,  stand  out  with  violent  effect  the  new, 
glaring  walls  and  red-tiled  roofs  of  the  various  missions 
and  hotels  built  after  European  methods.  At  the  foot 
of  the  slope  the  high-road  glittering  in  the  brilliant 
sunlight  like  a  pale  broad  ribbon  ran  into  the  town, 
disappearing  between  the  houses. 

Beyond  these  on  the  flat  was  the  verdant  belt  of 
gardens  and  orchards  filled  with  fruit-trees  and  high, 
silvery  poplars.  Between  these  was  an  open  space  that 
looked  like  the  dried  bed  of  a  pool  overspread  with 
heaped  patches  of  vivid  orange  in  conspicuous  relief 
against  the  greenery  and  grey  soil.  It  was  a  store  of 
maize  drying  in  the  sun  for  winter  use.  Here  and 
there  between  the  thick  foliage  spread  the  pale  flat  roof 
of  a  house.  There  were  walled  spaces  suggesting  special 
ownership  of  the  divided  enclosures.  In  one  of  the 
gardens,  set  out  in  conventional  stiffness  of  arrangement 
with  cypress,  myrtle,  and  other  shrubs,  glittered  the 
white  dome  of  a  small  cupola.  This  covers  the  tomb 
of  Kholat,  a  granddaughter  of  Ali,  the  prophet  of  the 


The  City  of  the  Sun  145 

Metawilehs,  to  which  religious  sect  more  than  half  the 
inhabitants  of  Baalbek  now  belong. 

To  the  right  of  this  forest  of  green — which  also 
extended  as  a  girdle  beyond  and  around — rose  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  temples  with  a  beauty  of  form, 
a  grandeur  of  dignified  stature  indescribable.  Bathed 
in  the  full  light  of  the  sun,  the  god  to  whose  glory  they 
were  dedicated,  gleaming  the  colour  of  gold  shot  with 
bronze,  so  perfect  in  their  magnificent  proportions  as 
to  appear  the  embodiment  of  symmetry  and  delicacy, 
it  was  the  exquisite  columns  of  the  Acropolis  displayed 
in  their  full  height  on  the  imposing  mural  basement 
that  fixed  first  direct  attention. 

Nearer  to  the  eye  but  parallel  with  these  stately  pillars 
extended  the  massive  south  of  the  temple  dedicated  to 
Jupiter  ;  the  ruddy  yellowish  blocks  of  the  masonry 
were  many  tones  deeper  in  colouring  than  the  sun-shot 
Acropolis.  One  huge  column  of  the  peristyle  seen  leaning 
against  the  cella  was  shaken  into  this  precarious  position 
by  the  last  great  earthquake,  and  so  strong  is  the  ancient 
workmanship  which  fixed  the  iron  clamps  holding  it 
together  that  the  fall  broke  several  stones  of  the  wall 
without  the  column  itself  coming  to  pieces. 

The  remainder  of  the  columns  which  once  filled 
that  empty  space  of  the  platform,  to  be  seen  in  perspective 
between  the  three  pillars  facing  the  west  wall  and  the 
four  supporting  an  Arab  tower  at  the  south-eastern 
angle,  are  concealed  from  view.  For  like  dethroned 
monarchs  they  lie  in  pell-mell  confusion  among  the  trees 
in  the  gardens  below,  where  they  were  hurled  headlong 
VOL.  1  19 


146  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

by  the  cataclysm  which  shook  the  ruined  temples  into 
their  present  condition. 

There  are  other  irregular  outlines  of  walls  and 
buildings  in  the  Acropolis  area  which  show  in  their  decay 
remains  of  an  inferior,  less  refined  architecture  that  is 
even  in  some  respects  ungainly  and  elementary.  These 
are  the  ruins  of  the  Arab  fortifications  built  at  various 
intervals  under  Moslem  rule  when  sieges,  long  sustained 
and  terrible,  compelled  the  garrison  to  defend  the  town 
under  shelter  of  the  strong  Roman-built  enclosure  of  the 
temples. 

The  whole  combined  in  colouring  and  situation  to 
form  a  picture  of  unique  beauty  set  in  a  frame  of  living, 
glinting  green.  The  wood  stretched  to  the  north, 
making  of  the  ruins  an  island.  Beyond  this  northern 
end  of  the  boscage  the  town  itself  spread  out  and  crept 
close  to  the  hill,  the  Oriental  roofs  mounting  like  terraces 
far  up  the  rocky  slope,  the  shimmering  grey  and  white 
walls,  the  vari-coloured  shutters  and  lattice  windows, 
the  pillared  and  arched  entrances,  the  hanging  terraces 
and  galleries,  the  foliage  of  acacia,  fig,  and  nut  trees, 
glimpses  of  figures  in  Eastern  garb  moving  on  the  house¬ 
tops,  all  massed  together  in  harmonious  contrast  with 
that  unforgettable  picture  set  in  green. 

Lift  the  gaze  and  look  beyond  the  town,  beyond  the 
silver  waves  of  poplar  foliage  to  the  plain,  as  it  sweeps 
across  to  the  Lebanon  hills  in  broad  ripples  of  reddish 
brown  melting  into  a  golden-brown,  alternately  with 
streaks  of  pale  sulphur-yellow  and  vivid  green,  where 
the  tender  grass  had  sprung  since  the  recent  rainstorm 


147 


The  City  of  the  Sun 

at  the  summons  of  the  sun’s  warm  beams.  The  knobby 
hillocks,  looking  like  great  tumuli  and  casting  great  purple 
shadows,  rising  behind  the  boscage  of  the  town  indicated 
another  ancient  quarry,  interesting  with  rock  tombs  and 
other  sepulchral  vestiges  dating  to  the  Roman  period. 

The  sun  was  striking  with  marvellous  atmospheric 
effect  full  on  the  slopes  of  Libanus.  The  dark  mark¬ 
ings  on  the  delicately  purple  slopes  caused  by  indenta¬ 
tions  of  surface  and  scattered  timber  stretches  were  like 
arteries  beating  through  the  quivering  haze  of  the  sun¬ 
bathed  distance.  Across  the  foot-hills  was  flung  a  long 
pale  shadow,  an  effect  produced  by  the  sparse  wooding  of 
trees  which  revealed  the  surface  of  the  ground  between. 
The  plain  vanished  north  and  south  between  the 
diminishing  mountain-walls  of  its  boundaries. 

A  long  pause  while  the  eye  drew  in  full  satisfaction 
of  the  beautiful  landscape,  and  then  the  walk  was  con¬ 
tinued  through  an  old  Moslem  cemetery  which  covered 
the  summit  of  the  hill.  The  central  tomb  crowning  the 
highest  point  was  of  a  noted  Sheikh  Abdallah.  It  was 
surrounded  by  a  thickly  set  picket  of  thin  posts. 
Evidently  it  was  a  weli  held  in  high  veneration,  because 
countless  multi-coloured  rags  were  tied  to  the  wooden 
railings,  dumb  witnesses  to  the  vows  and  visitations  of 
faithful  Moslem  pilgrims. 

Now  that  the  real  summit  of  the  hill  is  attained,  the 
view  from  the  other  side  discloses  a  small  valley  below 
with  the  bare  slopes  of  Anti-Lebanon  rising  beyond  it. 
We  pass  a  large  rock  excavation  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
which  shows  that  its  rocky  hollows  and  recesses  have 


148  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

been  recently  used  as  receptacles  for  the  conversion  of 
grapes  from  the  surrounding  vine-plants  into  the  sweet 
syrup  called  <c  dibs.”  Then  the  verge  of  the  hill-spur 
comes  abruptly,  and  the  ground  is  littered  with  fragments 
of  columns  and  large  blocks.  Remains  of  massive 
masonry  at  the  brink  of  the  perpendicular  cliff,  where  we 
can  look  down  upon  the  roofs  of  the  Metawileh  quarter 
of  the  town,  indicate  another  boundary  of  the  ancient 
Roman  wall. 

Now  we  descended  a  steep  zigzag  path.  It  was 
rugged  and  stony,  and  clung  to  the  side  of  a  precipitous 
cliff,  which  had  underwood  and  trees  of  fantastic  growth, 
with  gnarled  branches  growing  from  every  crevice  and 
ledge  where  the  roots  found  soil  in  which  to  thrive  and 
live. 

High  above  the  path-rock  tombs  perforated  the 
whole  face  of  the  cliff,  their  dumb  mouths  seeming  to 
hold  concealed  in  mysterious  retreat  the  whole  undis- 
coverable  buried  history  of  old  Baalbek,  of  which  it  is 
well-nigh  impossible  to  find  authentic  trace.  Every  turn 
of  the  zigzag  descent  revealed  fresh  points  of  view  over 
the  town  to  our  left  ;  peeps  into  the  hidden  courts  made 
attractive  with  flowering  shrubs  and  creepers,  the  sight  of 
gaily  garbed  women  and  children,  busying  themselves  on 
the  roof-tops  with  great  patches  of  corn  spread  out  on 
coloured  mats  to  dry  in  the  sun. 

At  the  foot  of  the  cliff  the  path,  after  skirting  a 
garden-wall,  emerged  unexpectedly  in  a  pleasant  avenue 
lined  with  tall  willows,  which  interlaced  their  leafy 
branches  overhead,  forming  an  effectual  screen  from  the 


149 


The  City  of  the  Sun 

fervent  sun-rays.  We  had  descended  to  a  fertile  dale 
watered  with  streams  that  have  their  source  in  a  noted 
spring  called  Ras-el-Ain,  which  gives  its  name  to  the 
whole  of  that  happy  valley. 

The  streams  flow  in  the  direction  of  the  town, 
dividing  near  the  spring  on  either  side  of  a  verdant 
meadow  bordered  with  willow-trees.  The  purling  water 
passes  with  turbulent  rush  and  sparkle  through  the 
tunnelled  archway  of  a  low  native  mill.  In  the  dim 
interior  of  the  grey  dwarfed  building  men  and  women 
were  squatting  in  picturesque  attitudes  busily  employed 
in  sifting  corn.  Outside  on  the  banks  of  the  little 
river  engaged  in  washing  clothes  small  lithe-limbed 
women  in  blue  Bedawin  robes  were  chattering  shrilly. 
Their  dark,  keen-eyed  faces  with  the  tattooed  chin  and 
mouth  retired  into  quick  concealment  behind  a  hastily 
drawn  veil  as  the  strangers  crossed  their  vision. 

Still  following  the  road  conducting  to  the  Ras-el-Ain 
an  old  mosque  came  to  view,  a  few  cottages  of  ordinary 
build,  cube-shaped  and  grey,  also  a  pretty  country  house 
with  a  pleasant  garden  belonging  to  the  German  Consul 
of  Damascus.  We  stood  on  tiptoe  and  peered  through 
a  broken  archway  in  the  outer  wall  of  the  mosque  and 
saw  that  a  Bedawin  camp  couched  in  the  centre  of  the 
enclosure.  The  usual  debris  of  a  ruined  building  was 
strewn  over  the  turf ;  a  few  camels  and  horses  were 
browsing  at  pleasure  ;  children  played  in  and  between 
the  tents,  while  a  number  of  men  were  smoking  on  the 

The  road  skirted  the  mosque,  but  instead  of  following 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 


150 

it  we  took  a  short  cut  over  a  stone  causeway  bridging 
the  brook,  and  crossed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the 
greensward.  The  dale  was  once  enclosed  within  the 
Roman  walls,  and  just  as  it  is  now  the  favourite  spot 
for  celebrating  wedding  festivals,  fantasia  of  horsemanship 
and  other  holiday  fetes,  so  fancy  pictures  it,  in  those 
golden  prosperous  days  of  the  early  Christian  era,  as 
a  beautiful  pleasure-garden  resorted  to  by  the  people 
of  Baalbek  in  search  of  recreation  and  refreshing  shady 
walks. 

Here,  where  on  Sundays  the  whole  greensward  is 
dotted  with  townsfolk,  the  banks  of  the  stream  spread 
with  light-hearted  groups  clad  in  raiment  resembling 
gaily  decked  flower-beds,  and  the  air  ringing  with  the 
strains  of  the  pipes  and  humming  to  the  thrum  of  the 
tambour,  one  can  truly  realise  the  tragical  melancholy 
of  the  Song  of  Exile  :  £C  by  the  waters  of  Babylon  there 
we  sat,  we  wept.” 

The  song  they  demanded  in  vain — it  lay  still 

In  our  souls  as  the  wind  that  hath  died  on  the  hill — 

They  called  for  the  harp — but  our  blood  they  shall  spill 
Ere  our  right  hands  shall  teach  them  one  tone  of  their  skill. 

On  the  banks  of  a  stream  the  Syrian  spends  ever 
the  happiest  hours  of  his  life  gazing  at  the  rippling 
waters,  playing  his  pipes  or  sometimes  kanun,  and  singing 
until  the  dipping  of  the  sun  in  the  west  is  the  signal 
for  him  to  seek  his  home.  For  him  to  weep  and  not 
to  rejoice,  to  hang  up  his  instrument  in  the  willows 
overhead  instead  of  singing  from  sheer  gaiety  of  heart 
like  the  birds  in  the  leafy  branches  above,  is  to  suggest 


The  City  of  the  Sun  1 5 1 

a  passivity  that  signifies  the  very  acme  of  melancholy, 
to  strike  the  lowest  diapason  of  tragedy  and  despair. 

The  sun  had  set,  but  before  the  short  twilight  had 
become  darkness,  the  moon  rose  to  throw  its  glamour 
over  the  walk  back  to  the  town  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  stream.  We  lingered  no  longer,  for  that  night 
we  had  planned,  through  the  courtesy  of  the  German 
architects,  our  fellow-guests,  to  visit  the  temple  area 
by  moonlight. 

The  glamour  of  poetry  shed  by  the  moonbeams  upon 
many  famed  ruins  of  this  earth’s  transitory  glory  has  been 
perpetuated  in  unforgettable  verse.  Would  that  a  poet, 
with  the  true  seer’s  eye  and  a  gift  of  expression  adequate 
to  fitting  interpretation  of  the  vision,  might  wander 
into  the  ruins  of  Baalbek  when  the  moon  is  high  in 
the  deep  azure  of  night  and  give  to  the  world  his  un¬ 
dying  impressions  !  For  a  mere  bald  writer  of  prose 
the  task  is  impossible,  though  the  ramble  we  had  that 
night  over  the  whole  area  of  the  Acropolis  is  one  of 
the  pictures  of  our  Eastern  travels  retained  by  memory 
least  likely  to  be  ever  forgotten. 

In  daylight  the  subterranean  passage,  through  which 
every  visitor  had  to  pass  before  emerging  into  the 
heart  of  the  ruins,  struck  chilly,  but  not  menacing, 
impression.  At  night  the  massive  masonry  of  the 
fortress  wall  guarding  the  entrance  frowned  dread  of 
the  unknown  straightway  into  our  hearts.  The  vaulted 
way  seemed  interminable,  but  fixing  the  eye  on  the 
blue  shimmering  aperture  at  the  further  end  we  stumbled 
over  the  rocky  path  without  waiting  for  the  delayed 


i  5 2  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

lantern.  When  the  cool  night  air  actually  played  on  the 
cheek,  relief  was  almost  intense,  and  then  the  eye 
uplifted,  but  only  for  an  instant. 

So  overpowering  was  the  first  impression  of  loneliness 
and  awe  created  by  the  sudden  sight  of  the  giant  pillars 
towering  in  the  mystic  blue  light,  that  instinct  bade 
one  creep  behind  the  nearest  great  stone  and  hide — hide 
from  the  guardians,  the  genii,  who  seemed  to  be  lurking 
in  the  black  depths  between  the  fallen  pillars,  to  be 
immovable  as  sentinels  in  the  penumbra  of  the  vast 
colonnade. 

But  there  description  fails.  The  wonder  of  that 
whole  magic  area  through  which  we  wandered  as  under 
a  spell  outstrips  expression.  The  veil  of  the  super¬ 
natural  lay  lightly  alike  on  the  untouched  surfaces  as 
on  the  lately  buried  relics,  now  laid  bare  by  the  persistent 
burrowing  of  the  searchers  after  truth.  Ghosts  of  the 
Long  Ago  hovered  near.  In  the  light  which  transfigures 
all  things  earthly  with  an  atmosphere  that  is  supra- 
mundane,  they  whispered  strange  tales  of  a  phantom 
world,  which  at  the  moment  seemed  vivid  and  real 
but  in  the  brightness  of  the  morrow  vanished  as  a  dream, 
which  memory  yearns  in  vain  to  retain. 

After  this  it  seems  heresy  to  hark  back  to  a 
momentary  panic  which  seized  upon  me  when  we  came 
back  to  the  great  portal  from  the  “  Tower  of  the 
Wind,”  where  we  had  climbed  to  view  the  moonswept 
plains  and  hills  of  what  appeared  under  the  new  con¬ 
ditions  to  be  an  unknown  world  encircling  this 
transfigured  enclosure. 


Great  Portal  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter. 


T53 


The  City  of  the  Sun 

Among  the  debris  below,  in  a  dim  angle  at  the  foot 
of  the  Arabic  citadel,  strange  fires  were  sprouting  into 
flames.  Black  figures,  grotesque  and  impish  in  the 
double  illumination  of  moon  and  firelight,  seemed  as 
actively  employed  as  are  the  witches  of  the  weird  scene 
which  introduces  Macbeth.  Were  they  earth- gnomes, 
weaving  some  horrid  incantation  to  keep  us  for  ever 
in  the  domain  of  their  masters  the  genii  ?  Worse  still, 
were  they  marauding  Bedawin  or  robbers  caught  in 
the  act  and  deed  of  trespass  upon  forbidden  ground, 
who  would  pounce  upon  us  as  spies  and  incarcerate 
us  in  one  of  the  countless  vaults  concealed  in  these 
cumbered  grounds  ? 

Alarm  was  stilled  with  the  first  word  of  explanation. 
Fire  had  been  kindled  in  a  secluded  corner,  that  its 
yellow  flare  might  not  intrude  upon  the  moon’s  serenity. 
Fire  had  been  tended  industriously  by  the  zealous  at¬ 
tendants  of  the  present  lords  of  the  Acropolis,  the 
German  effendis,  in  order  that  the  song  of  the  kettle 
might  be  heard.  For  the  nights  were  cool  in  those 
high  altitudes,  and  kindly  forethought  had  provided  an 
unexpected  antidote  against  chill. 

Thus  it  happened  that  though  in  danger  of  losing 
one’s  equilibrium  in  the  mazes  of  an  enchanted  land, 
we  were  handed  back  to  the  firm  ground  of  prose 
in  the  shadow  of  the  great  portal  itself.  We  sat  down 
among  the  mighty  fallen  over  against  the  moon-bathed 
faqade  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  and  yielded  to  the 
spell  of  tea,  while  giving  ear  to  the  plaintive  strains 
of  the  saddest  of  German  Volkslieder. 


VOL.  i 


20 


CHAPTER  XII 


BAALBEK 

SEAT  in  front  of  the  open  window  before  the 
hotel  balcony  afforded  entertainment  as  varied 
and  animated  as  the  shifting  scenes  of  a  kaleidoscope. 

Across  the  road  were  houses  built  at  a  slanting 
angle  with  the  street.  They  looked  like  an  irregular 
heap  of  square,  white  boxes  with  earthen  sun-baked 
lids,  the  roofs  of  some  constituting  a  promenade  and 
drying  area  for  others  built  on  a  higher  level.  The 
backs  of  another  clump  of  cottages  formed  a  barrier 
to  the  street,  and  the  flat  roof  extending  across  the 
whole  appeared  but  an  upper  stratum  of  the  white  road 
beneath.  It  was  covered  with  large  mats  on  which 
golden  grain  had  been  spread  out  carefully  to  dry  in 
the  sun.  Occasionally  a  woman  or  two  mounted  a  rude 
ladder  and  turned  over  the  grain.  A  man  sat  cross- 
legged  at  the  edge  of  the  roof  watching  the  people  who 

by- 

A  rider  in  gorgeous  apparel  consisting  of  a  bright 
blue  kumbaz,  an  abbai  of  brown  and  black,  and  a  pink 
and  gold  keffiyeh  bound  with  massive  agal,  drew  up 
beneath  the  roof  and  harangued  the  man  above.  They 
were  joined  by  a  second  rider,  who  galloped  full  pelt 
into  sight  and  then  reined  in  his  horse  with  an  abruptness 

iS4 


Baalbek 


*55 


that  made  the  animal  slide  forward  stiffly  like  a  wooden 
figure.  The  newcomer  was  a  wild-looking  Bedawi  with 
small  pointed  beard  and  black  moustache,  his  dark  face 
showing  of  a  tropical  bronze  in  contrast  with  a  keffiyeh 
of  brilliant  orange. 

Slowly  and  cautiously  a  camel  came  padding  down 
the  street,  balancing  from  either  side  two  huge  jars  which 
seemed  as  though  they  must  be  a  survival  of  the  jars 
of  The  Forty  Thieves .  The  inevitable  donkey  was  its 
companion,  and  leading  both  were  two  tawny,  hawk- 
eyed  men  garbed  above  the  Eastern  pantaloons  in  capacious 
jackets  of  crimson,  decorated  with  a  deep  gold  border,  and 
embroidery  extending  up  the  back.  Their  heads  were 
covered  with  black  keffiyehs  and  agals. 

Now  a  woman  crossed  the  road  from  the  house  at 
the  side  of  the  hotel.  She  was  dressed  in  a  bright 
blue  flowing  dress  with  hanging  sleeves,  a  cream-hued 
veil  covering  her  hair  and  hanging  down  her  back  to 
the  knees.  After  her  toddled  a  small  child  in  a  pale 
yellow  frock  girdled  beneath  the  arms  and  extending 
to  his  toes.  He  was  carrying  a  pewter  basin  high  above 
his  head  as  he  tripped  across  the  road,  but  suddenly 
he  stopped  with  gaping  mouth  to  view  a  new  figure 
approaching  the  scene.  This  was  a  lad  of  sixteen  who 
was  blowing  his  shepherd’s  pipes  as  he  strode  down  the 
street  with  free,  swinging  step.  His  pink  and  yellow 
coat  was  flapping  in  the  breeze  and  bulging  out  with 
the  package  which  he  had  placed  within  to  leave  his 
fingers  free  for  the  pipes.  He  wore  a  white  keffiyeh 
and  voluminous  white  pantaloons. 


156  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  next  actor  crossing  the  stage  was  an  ancient 
man  carrying  canvas  bags  slung  over  his  back,  and 
wearing  the  black  robe  and  tall  brimless  hat  of  a  Greek 
priest.  So  aggressive  and  snarling  was  the  grizzled 
physiognomy,  so  tall  and  upright  his  figure  in  spite  of 
advanced  years,  that  in  any  other  garb  he  might  have  been 
a  veritable  brigand.  He  was  so  evidently  the  mendicant 
demanding,  not  pleading  for,  alms  as  he  looked  up  at 
the  balcony  with  defiant  stare,  and  he  lingered  long 
outside  the  gateway  of  the  hotel  before  proceeding  on 
his  way. 

Nowhere  in  Syria  did  we  see  so  many  horses  of 
race  and  beauty  as  at  Baalbek  and  its  vicinity.  As  again 
two  riders  passed  down  the  street  on  two  fine  thorough¬ 
breds,  and  I  gave  eye  not  only  to  the  proud,  self- 
conscious  pace,  but  to  the  native  saddles,  crimson  cloths 
and  trappings  of  brown  woven  with  scarlet  and  gold, 
a  carriage  drew  up  before  the  hotel. 

There  alighted  three  travellers  who  had  driven  over 
the  plain  from  the  station  at  El-Muallaka.  One  seemed 
to  be  an  old  sheikh  in  snowy  turban  and  a  fine  silk 
robe  ;  another  was  middle-aged  and  dark,  in  European 
dress  and  tarboosh.  The  third  man  appeared  to  be  their 
dragoman  or  personal  attendant.  In  a  few  moments 
they  had  ascended  the  staircase  and  walked  into  the  lewan. 

The  unexpected  appearance  of  a  Franghi  lady  sitting 
in  solitary  possession  of  the  long  room  roused  their 
instant  curiosity.  The  old  sheikh  advanced  and  stood 
near  me  in  silence  for  some  moments,  alternately  looking 
at  me  and  my  work-case,  which  lay  open  on  the  table 


Baalbek 


1 57 


beside  me.  Suddenly  he  made  an  expressive  gesture 
signifying  the  action  of  sewing,  and  then  pointed  his 
finger  at  the  work-case. 

The  tall  Turk,  who  had  seated  himself  Oriental  fashion 
on  the  opposite  divan,  explained  in  French  that  his 
companion  was  making  request  for  a  needle  and  cotton. 

“  With  pleasure,  monsieur,”  I  replied,  and  after 
threading  one  into  the  other  I  handed  them  to  the 
old  man. 

He  shook  his  head,  caught  hold  of  the  collar  of 
his  silk  kumbaz,  and  showed  me  that  it  lacked  a  button. 
From  his  pantomimic  action  I  gathered  that  he  wished 
me  to  sew  the  button  on  for  him.  He  bent  his  head 
low  as  I  signified  no  disapproval  of  his  demand.  With 
every  stitch  that  secured  the  button  in  its  place  I  meditated 
that  these  two  Orientals,  who  would  have  done  things 
unutterable  to  their  own  wives  for  performing  a  similar 
service  for  a  strange  man,  were  in  all  probability  reflecting 
in  their  turn  on  the  curious  passivity  of  Western  men 
that  allows  to  their  women  the  mischievous  liberty  which 
from  the  Oriental  point  of  view  provokes  such  a  situation 

No  thanks  were  rendered,  by  the  way,  for  my 
piece  of  work.  The  old  sheikh’s  demeanour  as  he 
gravely  posed  himself  on  the  divan  by  his  fellow- 
traveller,  seemed  to  imply  his  opinion  that  the  deed  had 
been  sufficient  reward  of  itself,  blended  with  a  secret 
congratulation  that  he  had  been  the  instrument  of 
destiny  forcing  one  of  those  hare-brained,  forward  women 
of  Western  races  to  do  something  that  was  essentially 
feminine  and  useful. 


158  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Then  were  opened  upon  me  the  floodgates  of  a  persist¬ 
ent  and  minute  interrogation  by  the  man  in  the  fez,  who 
was  now  smoking  a  cigarette.  He  was  bearded,  and 
had  a  somewhat  troubled  expression  as  if  brooding  over 
and  inwardly  debating  problems  of  difficulty.  His  eyes 
were  dark  and  somewhat  prominent  with  a  slight  cast. 
When  speaking,  inquiry  was  as  visible  in  his  face  as 
in  his  speech,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  person  accosted 
with  an  expectancy  that  demanded  a  speedy  and  satis¬ 
factory  reply. 

<c  Where  are  you  going  ?  ”  he  asked,  in  French. 

u  I  am  going  nowhere  at  present.  I  am  staying  in 
Baalbek,”  I  replied. 

“  Do  you  live  in  Baalbek?  ” 

“  No.” 

“  Where  did  you  live  before  you  came  to 
Baalbek  ?  ” 

I  explained  that  I  was  travelling  not  in  the  ordinary 
way,  but  staying  for  a  lengthened  period  in  various 
parts  of  Syria.  This  remark  seemed  to  excite  great 
interest,  for  he  turned  to  the  old  sheikh  and  spoke 
animatedly  in  Turkish,  making  no  concealment  that 
he  was  discussing  my  latest  statement. 

“  Are  you  married  ?  ”  he  asked  with  sudden  renewed 
inquisitiveness. 

“  Yes.” 

“  Where  is  your  husband  ?  ” 

u  He  is  in  Baalbek.” 

“  What  is  he  doing  here  ?  ” 

“  He  is  painting  pictures.” 


Baalbek 


J59 


“  Have  you  any  children  ?  ”  “  How  many  years  have 

you  been  married  ?  ”  u  During  those  years  have  you  had 
any  children  at  any  time  ?  ”  These  and  other  questions 
were  shot  at  me  in  turn,  receiving  more  or  less  direct 
replies,  according  to  their  nature.  It  was  part  of  my 
method  of  gaining  insight  into  Oriental  character  and 
ways  not  to  curtail  or  check  any  experience  that  came 
into  my  way. 

A  calm  face  was  that  of  the  old  man’s,  unlined  with 
care,  though  the  serenity  was  such  as  might  have  come 
with  the  wisdom  of  years  and  the  rigid  self-control  of 
a  long  life.  He  was  silent  except  when  prompting  a 
question  or  giving  ear  to  the  interpreting  words  of  the 
dark-visaged  Turk. 

The  head-waiter  now  appeared  with  coffee  for  the 
newcomers,  who  made  sign  that  the  tray  should  also 
be  handed  to  me.  They  drank  their  beverage  without 
ceasing  the  fire  of  inquisitive  query,  and  replaced  the 
cups  on  the  tray  just  as  fresh  visitors  were  ushered  into 
the  lewan. 

These  consisted  of  a  number  of  white-turbaned 
personages  whose  appearance  in  spotless  rich  array 
pointed  them  out  as  people  of  distinction  in  the  town. 
Advancing  ahead  of  the  rest  was  a  full-bearded  man 
with  strong,  pronounced  features,  lustrous  in  colouring, 
vivid  lips,  and  fine  black  eyes.  As  they  came  slowly 
up  the  room  making  dignified  salaams,  I  surmised 
correctly  that  theirs  was  a  visit  of  ceremonious  salutation 
to  the  first  arrivals,  doubtless  personages  of  some 
importance.  I  retired  to  my  room,  from  whence  I  soon 


160  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

heard  loud  talking  carried  on  in  the  lewan,  vehement  and 
emphatic  in  tone. 

My  husband  returned  and  we  both  went  out  for 
a  walk.  Downstairs  in  the  hall  we  were  told  upon 
inquiry  that  the  chief  visitor  who  had  cross-examined 
me  closely  was  no  less  a  personage  than  a  well-known 
pasha  from  Constantinople,  brother  of  a  favourite 
courtier  of  the  Sultan.  The  old  sheikh  was  a 
“  parent.” 

The  ladies  of  his  harem  arrived  in  another  carriage. 
Two  of  them  were  closely  veiled,  and  wore  the  black 
satin  “  tschar-schaf,”  or  domino  mantle  concealing  the 
figure.  The  third  lady’s  face  was  uncovered,  showing 
a  pale  complexion,  and  large  almond-shaped  eyes  with 
dark  eyebrows  ;  over  a  wealth  of  golden-red  hair  she 
wore  a  mantilla  of  black  lace,  a  favourite  headgear  with 
those  Christian  ladies  of  the  Near  East  who  have  not 
entirely  adopted  European  fashions.  A  little  girl  was 
of  the  party,  dressed  simply  but  not  becomingly  in  a 
plaid  frock,  her  hair  uncovered  and  drawn  back  in  a 
tightly  plaited  pigtail.  The  party  was  escorted  to  another 
wing  of  the  hotel,  where  they  remained  in  strict  seclusion 
during  the  whole  visit  except  on  the  one  occasion  they 
all  went  out  for  a  drive. 

Later  on,  when  we  had  returned  to  the  hotel  and 
had  prepared  for  dinner,  we  went  again  into  the  lewan, 
where  only  the  pasha,  sheikh,  and  one  visitor  were  now 
present.  The  visitor  remaining  was  the  dark,  full- 
bearded  head  of  the  local  dignitaries.  The  pasha  came 
away  from  his  divan  near  the  window  and  removed  to 


Baalbek 


161 


one  behind  the  table  under  the  big  lamp  where  my 
husband  and  I  were  reading. 

“  Bonsoir,  madame  !  ”  he  said  pleasantly.  I  replied 
at  once,  and  seeing  that  his  attention  was  fixed  upon  my 
husband  made  the  desired  introduction.  Just  as  he 
seemed  ready  to  launch  out  into  the  familiar  flood  of 
amiable  inquiries  his  dragoman  appeared  on  the  scene 
through  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  lewan.  In  his  arms 
he  bore  a  small  rolled  carpet  which  he  brought  forward 
and  stretched  open  on  the  floor  half-way  down  the  room 
in  front  of  the  pasha’s  bedroom. 

Immediately  the  old  sheikh  rose  to  his  feet  with 
folded  hands.  A  few  words  spoken  in  hurried  tones 
passed  between  him  and  the  pasha.  The  visitor  made 
an  emphatic  gesture  with  his  hand  in  response  to  a 
remark  from  the  pasha,  then  turned  his  back  and 
closely  studied  a  letter  in  his  hand.  The  pasha  looked 
hesitatingly  at  us,  moved  with  wavering  gait  across  the 
room  as  if  undecided  upon  his  line  of  conduct,  finally 
he  turned  with  hurried  movement  to  the  sheikh,  who 
was  standing  on  the  carpet  by  the  bedroom  door. 

Then  side  by  side  they  knelt  in  evening  prayer 
to  Allah,  going  through  every  one  of  the  customary 
genuflexions,  prostrations,  and  muttered  formulae.  The 
worship  ended,  each  returned  to  his  seat,  the  attendant  rolled 
up  the  carpet,  and  again  withdrew  to  the  distant  room. 

The  dinner-bell  sounded.  The  pasha,  his  “  parent,” 
and  visitor  were  seated  opposite  us.  No  sooner  had 
all  taken  their  places  than  he  pointed  to  the  visitor 
beside  him. 


VOL.  I 


21 


1 62  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

“This  is  the  judge  of  Baalbek,”  he  said  by  way  of 
introduction,  “  the  cadi,  the  procureur  of  the  district, 
and  representative  of  the  Governor,  who  is  at  present 
absent  from  the  town.” 

The  Governor’s  representative  was  very  deaf,  and 
when  addressed  by  his  host  in  loud  tones  replied  in  a 
whisper,  and  plainly  signified  in  more  ways  than  one 
that  reticence  on  certain  subjects  was  not  only  expedient 
but  essential.  They  whispered  vehemently  into  each 
other’s  ears  for  a  few  moments,  then  became  silent  for 
the  remainder  of  dinner. 

About  half-past  nine  the  distinguished  guests  made 
further  orisons  on  their  prayer-carpet  in  the  lewan, 
then  withdrew  for  the  night.  Next  morning  the  pasha 
held  a  regular  levee  for  several  hours.  Visitors  of  all 
castes,  religions,  and  nationalities  poured  in  continuous 
stream  to  pay  him  the  homage  of  a  ceremonial  visit. 
At  noon  he  went  out  holding  a  big  white  umbrella 
over  his  head  ;  he  walked  with  a  slight  droop  of  the 
shoulder,  quietly,  with  unostentatious  mien  that  lacked 
all  pretentious  ceremony.  Under  the  shade  of  a  black 
sun-umbrella  his  relative  the  old  sheikh  walked  solemnly 
beside  him.  With  marked  attention  of  manner  both 
were  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by  the  worthy 
host  of  Hotel  Palmyra,  the  dragoman,  and  a  belated 
visitor  at  the  reception.  Thus  the  cortege  sallied  forth, 
but  only  one  member  of  it  returned,  for  the  pasha 
remained  for  the  rest  of  his  visit  in  Baalbek  with  the 
friend  he  had  gone  out  to  call  upon.  The  hotel  saw 
him  no  more. 


Ruins  of  the  Acropolis,  Baalbek. 


Baalbek 


163 

Religious  feeling  runs  very  high  at  intervals  in  Baalbek. 
The  rival  sects  are  not  Druses  and  Maronites  as  in  the 
Lebanon,  but  chiefly  Greek  Christians  and  Metawilehs, 
who  are  a  martial  race,  proud  of  their  religion,  adhering 
strictly  to  its  ceremonial  observance.  They  regard 
Christians  as  the  Jews  do  swine,  having  a  perfect  horror 
of  defilement  from  infidels.  They  make  an  exception 
with  regard  to  Moslems,  but  only  because  they  dread 
their  power.  Their  secret  sympathies  are  all  centred 
in  Persia,  which  they  consider  the  stronghold  of  their 
religion  and  its  Shiite  doctrines.  For  it  was  the 
Persians  who  first  raised  Ali  and  his  sons,  son-in-law 
and  grandsons  of  Mahomet,  to  a  rank  superior  to  the 
founder  of  El-Islam,  making  of  Ali  a  supernatural  being, 
the  incarnation  of  Allah.  The  Metawilehs  to  this  day 
preserve  the  Shiite  doctrines  in  their  purest  original 
form. 

They  possess  several  villages  in  the  north  of 
Palestine,  and  also  in  the  Lebanon  as  far  as  Homs. 
In  Bsherreh  reside  Metawilehs  who  are  believed  to  be 
the  real  descendants  of  El-Hassein  and  El-Hossein, 
sons  of  Ali  :  they  wear  green  turbans  as  a  sign  of  their 
honourable  descent,  and  make  display  of  an  extreme 
unction  of  manner.  They  are  addressed  in  letters  even 
by  beys  of  high  distinction  as  “  My  liege,  lord  master, 
and  hope  after  Allah.” 

They  have  a  number  of  curious  and  absurd  super¬ 
stitions,  the  majority  of  them  hanging  upon  their  hatred 
to  Christians  and  other  infidels.  .  The  cup  of  water 
willingly  bestowed  by  others  upon  a  thirsty  stranger, 


164  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

is  refused,  or  given  with  extreme  reluctance,  by  a 
Metawileh,  because  it  is  his  bounden  duty  to  destroy 
a  vessel  that  has  been  polluted  by  the  lips  of  an 
unbeliever.  To  decide  a  question  or  duty  upon  which 
they  are  in  doubt,  they  will  take  their  string  of  beads 
— seldom  out  of  an  Oriental’s  hands — and,  in  the  name 
of  Allah,  taking  a  portion  of  the  rosary  into  their  fingers, 
begin  to  count  the  beads  two  and  two  until  the  centre 
of  the  string  is  reached.  Should  three  of  the  beads 
remain,  the  option  of  choice  is  left  to  himself ;  if  only 
two  or  none  remain,  the  business  must  be  abandoned — it 
is  against  the  will  of  Allah. 

The  lower  classes  of  this  sect  are  often  addicted 
to  petty  theft,  and  they  are  splendid  liars  ;  but  as  these 
qualities  are  chiefly  exercised  in  contact  with  those  of 
another  religion  they  are  not  regarded  as  criminal. 

It  is  small  wonder,  therefore,  that  in  a  town  where 
out  of  five  thousand  inhabitants,  chiefly  Metawileh,  only 
one  thousand  are  Christians,  the  tension  between  the 
rival  factions  becomes  quickly  strained  under  conditions 
of  strife  or  disagreement.  But  though  the  Christians 
are  in  the  minority,  their  head  family  is  an  influential 
one,  rich,  and  under  the  lofty  protection  of  his  Imperial 
Majesty  the  Sultan. 

Rivalry  and  rancour  flowed  to  a  dangerous  extreme 
for  at  least  two  weeks  of  our  stay  in  Baalbek.  The 
exciting  cause  was  a  mere  quarrel  which  took  place  at 
a  Greek  Christian  wedding.  While  the  nuptial  ceremony 
was  in  progress,  some  mischievous  Metawileh  youths 
entered  the  church  uninvited,  and  created  a  disturbance 


Baalbek 


165 

by  attempting  to  take  their  seats  in  the  place  reserved 
only  for  women.  The  chief  men  of  the  church  came  to 
remove  the  disturbers,  who  resisted,  but  were  finally 
evicted  with  force. 

After  the  church  service  was  over,  the  procession 
took  its  way  to  the  house  of  the  bride,  and  while  on  the 
route  the  same  Metawileh  youths,  who  had  evidently  been 
watching  their  opportunity,  insinuated  themselves  into 
the  strictly  feminine  portion  of  the  bridal  cortege,  not 
only  angering  but  seriously  alarming  the  Greek  women. 

“  What  are  these  strangers  doing  in  our  midst  ?  ” 
they  screamed  out  indignantly,  and  called  upon  their 
men  for  rescue  from  a  danger  which  the  darkness  of  the 
hour  enhanced. 

A  scrimmage  of  serious  nature  was  only  arrested  by 
the  earnest  intervention  of  the  priest.  It  takes  very 
little  to  fire  the  hot  Eastern  blood,  especially  where 
religious  fanaticism  is  always  the  dominant  chord  of  the 
emotions. 

Next  morning  a  member  of  the  chief  Christian  family 
in  the  town  was  walking  with  a  friend  near  the  serai 
when  he  was  confronted  suddenly  by  one  of  the 
Metawilehs  who  had  been  concerned  in  the  church 
episode. 

“  You  put  me  out  of  the  church  last  night,”  he 
shouted.  “  Take  that  this  morning,”  and  he  struck 
the  Christian  bey  in  the  face.  Then  he  took  to  his 
heels  like  the  wind.  He  was  promptly  caught,  however, 
and  clapped  into  prison. 

Immediately  the  fat  was  in  the  fire,  burning  and 


1 66  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

spitting  finely.  For  this  act  of  open  violence  towards  a 
distinguished  townsman  was  at  once  regarded  by  the 
Christians  as  ominous  of  bad  feeling  emanating  from  high 
authority  in  the  Metawileh  ranks  behind  the  delinquent. 
They  declared  that  he  had  been  incited  to  overt  defiance 
and  insult  of  a  purpose. 

Several  telegrams  were  promptly  dispatched  by  the 
head  Christians  to  high  authorities  of  the  Government  in 
Damascus.  Not  a  Christian  tradesman  but  closed  his 
shop  on  that  morning  of  the  outrage,  not  knowing  what 
disturbances  would  ensue.  In  fact  it  was  impossible 
to  buy  goods  anywhere,  as  the  majority  of  the  shop¬ 
keepers  in  the  bazaars  were  of  the  Greek  persuasion. 

The  news  spread  rapidly.  A  message  came  privately 
from  Zahleh — a  stronghold  of  militant  Christians  bristling 
with  a  righteous  indignation  at  the  slight  put  upon  their 
community — that,  at  a  word  from  Baalbek  of  any  further 
insult,  two  thousand  men  were  ready  to  set  out  and 
burn  a  neighbouring  village  belonging  to  an  important 
Metawileh,  in  retribution  for  the  monstrous  outrage. 

The  attitude  of  the  people  of  Baalbek  was  expectant, 
tense.  They  awaited  they  knew  not  what.  For  the 
most  part  the  Metawileh  were  overbearing  and  aggressive, 
feeling  themselves  the  stronger  party,  yet  recognising  a 
superior  force  in  concealed  support  of  the  numerically 
weak  rival.  As  for  the  Christians  themselves  they  stayed 
up  till  long  past  midnight  in  their  houses,  fully  armed, 
dreading  an  attack  at  any  moment  from  their  implacable 
enemies.  In  this  anxiety  shared  the  inmates  of  the 
hotel,  for  the  host  was  a  Greek  and  a  Christian. 


Baalbek 


167 

While  it  was  still  dark  next  morning,  two  carriages 
passed  out  of  the  town  at  rapid  speed.  Many  others 
followed  between  dawn  and  seven,  for  forty  Christian 
families  had  resolved  to  leave  Baalbek  that  day  and  as 
many  again  the  following  day.  With  them  would  vanish 
temporarily  the  trade  of  the  town. 

And  what  a  dawn  was  that,  followed  by  a  sunrise 
which  should  have  ushered  in  a  millennium,  not  a  rumour 
of  bloodshed.  Golden  clouds  and  haze  effused  with  gold 
covered  the  eastern  sky.  Pure  and  serene,  from  the 
framework  of  grey  slim  poplars  rose  the  pillars  of  the 
Acropolis  on  a  background  of  every  tone  of  rose  and 
pink.  The  shadows  of  night  slipped  like  a  slowly 
descending  curtain  down  the  moun  tains  of  Lebanon 
as  the  rising  light  of  Aurora  tipped  rosily  one  peak 
after  the  other,  gliding  over  the  summit,  revealing  every 
indentation  and  mark  on  the  surface,  radiating  the  whole 
with  effulgent  pink  flush,  till  it  gradually  dropped  over 
the  whole  barrier  of  hills  with  transfiguring  brilliant 
effect. 

Below  in  the  gateway  of  the  hotel  sat  two  soldiers, 
while  a  boy  in  a  fez  made  notes  on  paper  at  their  bidding 
as  each  carriage  in  turn  passed  out  of  the  town.  A  large 
deputation  of  Christians  had  set  out  to  carry  their 
grievances  to  Damascus. 

At  a  council  of  war  held  before  this  faction  set  out  on 
its  mission  it  transpired  later  that  the  old  bishop  of  the 
Greek  Church  in  Baalbek  had  advocated  peace.  He 
stated  that  their  sovereign,  the  Sultan,  desired  Moslems 
and  Christians  to  live  in  peace  and  unity,  that  it  was 


i68 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

their  bounden  duty  to  smooth  the  rough  dispute,  to 
make  at  once  for  reconciliation. 

The  aggrieved  party  got  up  and  desired  the  bishop 
to  sit  down,  saying  that  he  himself  would  speak.  He 
then  expatiated  at  length  on  all  the  various  wrongs  and 
slights  suffered  by  Christians,  reminded  his  audience 
how  continually  they  were  being  imprisoned  on  the 
slightest  charges,  how  they  could  not  even  raise  their 
voice  to  a  Metawileh  without  receiving  a  blow  in  reply. 

At  the  end  of  the  long  heated  speech  the  listeners 
got  up  with  great  excitement. 

“  Let  us  go  !  Let  us  go  !  ”  they  shouted,  gesticula¬ 
ting  wildly.  <(  We  will  set  fire  to  the  church,  for  our 
bishop  is  of  no  account.” 

They  were  only  calmed  and  reassured  by  the  decision 
taken  subsequently  that  representatives  headed  by  the 
bishop  should  go  at  once  to  Damascus  to  interview  the 
Wali,  or  governor-general. 

During  the  couple  of  days  these  men  were  absent 
matters  somewhat  calmed  down,  though  the  undercurrent 
of  antagonism  was  still  strong,  and  emotion  was  strained 
by  the  numerous  exciting  reports  continually  floating 
about  the  town.  It  was  said  that  a  large  body  of 
Maronites  had  come  from  the  hills  down  to  Der-el-Ahmar 
— a  Maronite  village  three  hours’  journey  to  the  north 
of  Baalbek — declaring  they  had  heard  of  the  disturbance 
and  were  ready  to  go  to  the  succour  of  the  Christians. 
A  few  rode  on  to  the  town  to  ascertain  the  correctness 
of  the  report  that  the  head  of  the  Christian  beys  had 
been  killed.  For  the  rival  side  rumour  asserted  that 


Baalbek 


169 

fifty  lances  had  been  discovered  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
chief  Metawileh  one  morning,  planted  there  by  a  body 
of  three  hundred  Metawileh,  who  had  ridden  silently  and 
secretly  into  the  town  at  night,  to  show  their  alacrity  to 
rise  at  his  command  on  his  behalf.  Two  of  this  body 
rode  past  the  hotel  in  broad  daylight,  fully  armed  for 
action. 

A  wedding  on  one  of  those  days  of  suspense  afforded 
some  distraction.  The  festivities  took  place  in  one  of 
the  houses  to  be  viewed  from  the  hotel  balcony.  The 
young  bridegroom  was  a  Bedawi,  and  when  he  rode 
up  on  his  gaily  prancing  horse  accompanied  by  a  number 
of  friends,  great  shouts  and  ululations  of  joy  greeted 
his  advent.  People  ran  forward  from  all  sides,  racing 
across  the  garden  to  the  house,  and  flocking  thick  as 
bees  up  the  outside  staircase  to  swarm  on  the  terraced 
roof. 

The  women  were  dressed  in  long  dominoes  of  every 
colour  drawn  up  over  the  head.  The  men  wore  their 
multi-hued  kumbazes  and  flowing  abbai.  The  whole 
was  a  glittering  and  moving  mass  of  figures  in  colours 
of  gold,  red,  blue,  and  brown.  The  music  and  the 
clattering  of  the  dance  were  audible  from  afar. 

After  a  while  the  bridegroom  again  appeared.  He 
descended  from  the  roof,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
slowly  and  importantly  up  the  street  followed  by  a 
crowd  of  long-veiled  women  uttering  piercing  cries 
of  joy. 

Two  days  later  both  the  Christians  and  Metawilehs 
were  agog,  anticipating  the  return  of  the  deputation  from 


VOL.  I 


22 


170  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Damascus.  The  manner  of  their  exit  had  been  hurried 
and  secretive.  Their  entrance  was  to  be  a  triumph. 

About  two  o’clock  a  Turkish  officer  with  a  native 
soldier  (in  flowing  robe,  full  pantaloons,  keffiyeh,  lance 
in  hand  and  gun  slung  over  the  shoulder)  rode  down 
the  street.  A  succession  of  soldiers  in  pairs  carrying 
lances  of  great  length  followed  at  intervals  of  every 
few  minutes,  and  then  came  a  soldier  on  a  splendid  bay 
from  which  he  sprang  exactly  opposite  the  hotel,  and 
stood  holding  the  reins  as  if  waiting  for  another  rider 
than  himself. 

Finally  down  the  street  came  on  foot  an  officer 
with  gold  epaulettes,  the  commandant  of  the  local 
garrison,  who  was  followed  by  an  ordinary  foot-soldier 
leading  a  horse  with  a  straw  saddle.  The  commandant 
mounted  the  waiting  thoroughbred,  the  soldier  vaulted 
upon  the  straw-saddled  horse,  and  both  vanished  in  a 
twinkling  from  sight. 

About  four  o’clock  sounds  of  carriage  wheels  and 
horses  became  audible.  The  officers  and  soldiers  came 
into  view  riding  as  escort  to  the  two  first  carriages 
which  appeared.  The  military  commander  of  Damascus 
was  seated  in  the  first  carriage  with  his  second  officer 
in  command.  In  the  second  were  seated  the  Greek 
bishop  of  Baalbek,  a  venerable,  fragile- looking  greybeard, 
apparently  of  great  age,  and  the  head  Christian  bey  of 
the  locality. 

Behind  followed  half  a  dozen  other  carriages  filled 
with  the  members  of  the  deputation  that  had  set  out 
three  days  earlier  to  bring  their  complaint  to  head- 


Baalbek 


171 


quarters.  From  all  sides  of  the  Christian  quarter,  men 
and  boys  ran  out  to  greet  them,  following  in  a  crowd 
till  they  disappeared  up  the  narrow  street  into  the  town. 

Meanwhile  the  landlord  of  the  Hotel  Palmyra  had 
been  apprised  that  the  two  pashas  from  Damascus  would 
put  up  under  his  roof.  In  an  hour  they  returned  from 
the  serai  with  their  military  escort,  and  mounted  to  the 
lewan,  where  visitors  at  once  began  to  pour  in  to  pay 
their  salutations  of  homage — officers,  Greek  notables, 
Moslem  and  Metawileh  dignitaries. 

The  commandant  was  a  tall,  thin  man  of  commanding 
figure,  and  a  keen,  strong  face  with  marked  features, 
a  reddish  moustache,  and  dark  hair  beneath  his  fez. 
He  sat  on  the  divan  Turkish  fashion,  his  shoes  on  the 
floor,  but  his  manner  was  dignified  and  reserved  ;  he 
was  highly  intelligent,  and  considered  just  and  wise  in 
judicial  decision.  It  was  rumoured,  be  it  confessed, 
that  he  could  neither  read  nor  write,  but  he  had  the 
reputation  of  being  one  of  the  finest  officers  in  the  service, 
was  universally  respected,  and  also  dreaded,  for  he  was 
not  only  just  but  far-seeing. 

His  colleague,  the  second  in  command,  was  grey- 
bearded,  almost  white,  and  wore  spectacles  ;  in  manner 
he  was  abrupt  and  imperious.  He  was  a  man  of  education 
and  a  clever  writer. 

The  commandant  came  to  the  determination,  after 
hearing  statements  of  the  whole  position  from  the  heads 
of  both  factions,  that  it  was  necessary  to  go  through 
all  the  judicial  cases  with  their  verdicts  for  the  last  two 
years  in  order  that  he  might  judge  for  himself  if  justice 


172  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

had  been  accorded  impartially  to  Christians  and  Moslems 
alike. 

During  the  nine  days  that  ensued  the  lewan  of  the 
hotel  was  the  most  animated  spot  in  Baalbek.  When 
the  pasha  was  not  at  the  serai,  he  was  holding  debates 
and  receptions  in  the  lewan,  and  when  these  were  con¬ 
cluded  whole  bevies  of  beys  and  effendis  remained  to 
assist  him  in  his  favourite  recreation  of  card-playing. 
When  this  same  recreation  was  pursued  with  a  zest 
and  vivacious  accompaniment  of  conversation  until  the 
small  hours  of  the  morning  for  several  nights  in 
succession,  the  English  and  German  guests  of  the 
hotel  ventured  to  put  in  a  mild  word  of  protest  to 
their  host,  M.  Mimikaki.  With  a  complacency  not 
altogether  expected,  though  certainly  its  courtesy  was 
appreciated,  the  pasha  at  once  made  a  point  of  re¬ 
tiring  to  another  part  of  the  hotel  with  his  whole 
following,  cards  and  all,  as  soon  as  the  ordinary  guests 
had  withdrawn  to  their  rooms  for  the  night. 

I  am  reminded  by  the  artist  that  it  was  perhaps 
another  case  of  the  one  touch  of  nature — fellow-feeling 
— that  suggested  this  consideration.  We  also  had 
played  cards  in  the  lewan  when  alone,  and  on  one 
occasion  were  deep  in  a  game  when  the  pasha  and  his 
friends  came  unexpectedly  upon  us.  The  pasha  urged  us 
to  complete  our  game,  backing  with  sportsmanlike  vigour 
the  lady’s  play,  though  patently  sceptical  of  the  result 
in  her  favour.  By  a  happy  chance,  victory  fell  to  the 
lady’s  lot,  but  the  amaze  on  the  part  of  the  onlookers 
was  more  ingenuous  than  flattering  to  the  sole 


Baalbek  173 

representative  of  her  sex  at  that  time  in  the  Hotel 
Palmyra. 

As  soon  as  the  reconciliation  between  the  heads  of 
the  two  religious  parties  ensued  after  the  pasha’s  inter¬ 
vention,  and  the  masses  calmed  into  their  ordinary 
neutral  bearing,  another  excitement  stirred  up  general 
interest.  This  was  in  connection  with  an  experiment,  a 
daring  engineering  feat  connected  with  elevating  the 
keystone  of  the  arch  of  the  great  portal  of  the  Temple 
of  Jupiter.  This  keystone  had  dropped  some  two  yards 
or  more  in  the  great  earthquake  of  1759  ;  but  was 
arrested  in  its  fall  by  the  two  lateral  blocks,  one  on 
either  side.  For  many  years  it  had  hung  in  a  truly 
precarious  position,  the  eagle  forming  the  lower  part,  and 
holding  between  its  talons  a  thunder-bolt  and  a  key, 
presenting  a  pitiable  and  helpless  emblem  of  the  downfall 
of  the  mighty  temples.  For  some  years  past  masonry 
constructed  to  prevent  the  complete  downfall  of  the 
stone  had  concealed  the  symbol  of  Jupiter  from  view. 

Now  all  this  was  to  be  altered.  The  German 
architects,  skilful,  enterprising,  and  experts  in  their  pro¬ 
fession,  conceived  the  idea  of  replacing  this  keystone  of 
the  arch  in  its  original  position.  After  weeks  of  pre¬ 
paration  in  advance,  the  memorable  day  on  which  the 
actual  undertaking  was  to  be  taken  in  hand  arrived. 

By  the  courtesy  of  the  German  gentlemen,  who  had 
already  given  the  artist  every  facility  in  their  power 
for  painting  within  the  Acropolis,  we  were  invited  to  be 
present  on  the  great  occasion. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


DAY  OF  RAISING  THE  KEYSTONE  OF  THE  GREAT 
PORTAL  OF  THE  TEMPLE  OF  JUPITER 

A  SKY  of  peerless  blue,  an  atmosphere  clear  as  crystal 
ushered  in  the  eventful  morn.  The  six  great 
pillars  of  the  Acropolis  were  shining  like  burnished 
bronze  against  the  scintillating  background. 

The  artist  climbed  for  his  subject  to  the  roof  of  the 
Arab  citadel  which  is  opposite  the  facade  of  the  Temple 
of  Jupiter.  I  remained  as  spectator,  half-way  down, 
among  the  giant  boulders,  the  fallen  capitals,  and  broken 
columns,  splendid  in  their  downfall,  which  were  heaped 
in  a  gigantic  bank  directly  over  against  the  great  portal. 
From  the  wide  trough  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  worked 
by  the  excavators  through  accumulation  of  many  centuries 
of  debris,  mounted  another  bank  of  similar  nature,  bury¬ 
ing  half  the  pillars  and  the  doors  on  either  side  of  the 
portal  once  serving  as  entrances  to  the  side  porches. 

This  small  Temple  of  Jupiter  has  its  walls  still  intact, 
and  their  inner  surfaces  are  in  a  state  of  wonderful 
preservation.  The  strength  and  skill  of  the  methods  of 
ancient  construction  are  proved  by  the  stability  of  whole 
masses  of  architecture  in  the  Acropolis,  which  still  re¬ 
main  standing  though  crumbling  with  age,  and  in  spite 


Day  of  Raising  the  Keystone  I75 

of  having  suffered  on  so  many  occasions  through  terrible 
convulsions  of  nature.  The  colour  of  the  temple  was  a 
golden-brown  ;  many  of  the  huge  stones  were  indented 
and  cracked  but  knitted  as  closely  together  as  when  first 
put  into  their  place.  The  whole  structure  is  considered 
the  best  preserved  and  most  beautiful  of  ancient  temples 
in  Syria. 

The  appearance  of  the  pronaos,  which  once  held 
two  rows  of  six  fluted  columns,  with  a  noble  flight  of 
steps  mounting  from  their  bases  to  the  great  door,  can 
best  be  understood  by  examining  the  picture  of  this 
special  point  of  interest,  called  “  The  Temple  of  Jupiter.” 
The  splendid  portal  with  its  imposing  and  rich  pro¬ 
portions  is  the  gem  of  the  building  ;  the  modern  masonry 
which  held  the  keystone  from  further  downfall  was 
like  an  ordinary  wall  filling  up  the  whole  entrance. 
The  doorposts,  however,  were  in  view,  forming  a 
border,  elaborately  sculptured  with  vines,  garlands  of 
flowers,  ears  of  corn,  and  figures  in  miniature  bearing 
branches  and  clusters  of  grapes. 

Part  of  the  masonry  had  been  removed  to  make 
room  for  the  four  pillars  of  the  iron  elevator  ready  to 
be  set  in  motion  to  raise  the  keystone,  which  was  no 
less  a  weight  than  twenty-six  tons.  Workmen  in  Arab 
costumes  stood  in  readiness  on  either  side  of  the 
machinery  ;  near  at  hand  were  the  German  overseer  and 
also  a  few  European  mechanics  ;  on  the  ladder  in  front 
stood  the  expert,  the  master-builder  from  Germany,  who 
had  planned  this  skilful  though  perilous  undertaking. 

A  string  of  privileged  townsfolk  with  a  few  of 


176  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

their  wives  filed  in  and  between  the  strewn  boulders  and 
columns.  Among  them  was  the  wife  of  Mr.  Michael 
Alouf,  head  dragoman  of  the  Acropolis,  whose  knowledge 
and  keen  appreciation  of  the  ruins  and  their  environs 
are  embodied  in  an  interesting  little  work  called  the 
History  of  Baalbek ,  published  in  Beyrout.  The  head- 
shawls  of  the  women,  of  white,  pink,  or  black  hue,  and 
the  red  fezes  of  the  men,  the  excited  workmen  moving 
hastily  to  and  fro,  all  combined  to  bring  movement  and 
local  colour  into  a  picture  of  more  than  passing  interest. 

And  now  the  pasha  himself,  with  his  customary 
following  of  beys,  effendis,  and  soldiers,  appeared  un¬ 
expectedly  on  the  scene.  As  he  advanced  leisurely 
through  the  debris  an  Arab  youth  was  dispatched  at 
utmost  speed  to  fetch  chair  and  stools  for  “  His 
Excellency,”  who  had  condescended  to  take  interest  in 
the  uplifting  of  the  great  stone. 

Then  ensued  a  breathless  pause,  a  hush  that  could 
be  felt  just  before  the  signal  to  begin  was  given  forth 
after  all  those  long  days  of  arduous  preparation.  The 
Arab  navvies  at  work  in  the  trench,  freeing  with  their 
pick-axes  the  debris  of  centuries  from  the  bases  of  the 
columns,  paused  and  stood  like  statues  to  watch  with 
eager,  bronzed  faces  the  starting  of  an  operation  which 
created  in  the  mind  of  every  spectator  a  seething 
anxiety. 

“  All  together  !  ”  came  at  last  in  resolute  voice  of 
command.  <c  Quite  evenly  !  ”  and  then  promptly  began 
the  slow,  smooth  action  of  four  small  handles,  two  at 
either  end  of  the  long  iron  bars  running  through  the 


Day  of  Raising  the  Keystone  *77 

four  iron  pillars  which  were  fixed  between  the  top  of 
the  lintel  and  the  masonry  below. 

“  Slowly  !  ”  “  Stop  !  ”  “  Go  on  ”  (Yellah  !).  “  Easy  !  ” 
<c  All  together  !  ” 

One  order  followed  the  other  in  rapid  succession 
the  whole  time,  shouted  or  spoken  calmly  according  to 
the  demand  of  the  situation.  Now  the  stone  appeared 
to  move.  Yes,  it  moved  !  It  moved  !  But  “  Stop  !  ” 
came  in  stern  command,  for  it  seemed  to  be  moving 
forward  and  not  upward.  “  Yellah  !  ”  the  critical 
moment  had  passed.  Round  went  the  handle-bars 
worked  by  the  excited  Arabs.  “  Slowly  !  evenly  !  all 
together  !  Stop  !  ” 

Now  rose  a  shrill  chorus  of  shouts  from  spectators 
and  workers  alike.  The  first  space  between  the  iron 
levers  and  the  wall  beneath  became  visible.  The  experi¬ 
ment  was  working  successfully.  Overhead,  standing  on 
the  keystone  itself  between  it  and  the  broken  architrave, 
was  stationed  a  man  whose  watchful  eye  from  above 
was  to  guard  against  undue  friction  or  uneven  elevation. 
Inch  by  inch  was  to  be  gained  with  long  breathless 
pauses  between  to  reshift  the  masonry  and  massive  blocks 
supporting  the  levers  which  were  raising  the  stone. 

Two  yards  had  to  be  conquered  in  this  way.  Half 
this  distance  was  achieved  in  three  hours’  time,  but 
with  every  inch  gained,  difficulty  increased  as  fresh 
support  had  to  be  built  beneath  to  prevent  the  bare 
possibility  of  a  sudden  slip  or  accident  of  any  kind 
through  failure  of  part  of  the  machinery.  The  opera¬ 
tions  conducted  after  this  necessarily  cautious  method 

23 


VOL.  I 


178  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

took  three  days  to  complete,  on  account  of  the  long 
intervals  employed  in  strengthening  and  building  up 
the  wall  beneath. 

From  the  top  of  the  Arabic  citadel  we  both  watched 
proceedings  on  the  following  day.  There  was  a  certain 
attraction  about  the  savagery  of  this  dilapidated  fortress, 
the  oldest  of  the  fortifications  built  by  the  Arabs  within 
the  Acropolis.  The  top  story  was  non-existent  except 
in  the  shape  of  circles  of  huge  stones,  which  lay 
scattered  on  the  second  story  like  a  fallen  Stonehenge. 
The  ascent  to  this  point  of  view  was  particularly  difficult 
as  the  staircases  were  in  part  destroyed,  but  the 
panorama  of  the  ruins  and  the  whole  environing  land¬ 
scape  was  more  than  compensation  for  the  labour  of 
attaining  to  it. 

The  tall  poplars  of  the  gardens  waved  breezily  on 
a  level  with  the  parapet.  Straight  ahead  were  the  noble 
columns,  still  preserved,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
peristyle,  where  they  support,  with  the  two  fluted  columns 
of  the  pronaos,  a  superb  coffered  ceiling.  Between 
these  and  the  cella  could  be  seen  the  leaning  column, 
and  a  dainty,  delicious  peep,  as  through  a  glorified 
picture-frame,  of  the  hills  and  plain  beyond. 

Far  away,  north  and  south,  stretched  the  rich,  red 
burnt  plain,  like  a  long-swept  wave  deepening  in 
intensity  of  colour  where  the  lines  of  the  horizon  touched 
the  turquoise  sky.  The  sun  was  mounting  high  to  the 
zenith,  and  “  there  was  nothing  hid  from  the  heat 
thereof.”  Everything  in  view  blazed  and  sang  and 
scintillated  with  matchless  colour.  The  sound  of  hammer 


South 


Peristyle  of  the 


Temple 


of  Jupiter. 


To  face  page  178. 


Day  of  Raising  the  Keystone  179 

upon  the  stone,  of  axe  upon  the  rubble,  vibrated  through 
the  whole  area  of  the  Acropolis,  as  if  in  the  days  of 
construction  centuries  far  back — in  the  days  of  the 
golden  age,  the  Saturnian  age. 

But  where  were  the  builders  ?  Where  the  one¬ 
time  fervent  worshippers  of  Jupiter,  and  the  great  and 
shining  light,  which  still  searched  out  every  crevice 
and  corner  of  its  ruined  shrine  ?  “  Wrecks  of  another 

world  than  this.”  Only  Nature  remained  changeless 
in  her  very  mutability,  the  dumb  confidant  of  all  that 
had  been,  the  keeper  of  the  world’s  secrets  still  untold. 
From  the  blue  of  the  Syrian  sky,  from  the  heights  of 
Lebanon  and  Anti-Lebanon,  she  seemed  to  be  watching 
with  her  everlasting  eyes  the  eager,  wistful  delvers, 
who  sought  to  wrest  from  these  relics  of  antiquity  the 
hidden  treasures  of  vanished  eons. 

The  attraction  of  the  Acropolis  dulls,  to  a  certain 
extent,  the  interest  taken  by  travellers  in  other  examples 
of  ancient  architecture  worth  visiting  in  the  town. 
Tucked  away  in  the  modern  village,  and  not  easy  of 
access,  except  through  the  private  doorway  of  a  house, 
stands  a  beautiful  little  temple,  built  in  semi-circular 
form,  and  still  in  a  state  of  excellent  preservation. 

Around  the  cella  runs  a  peristyle  with  six  beautiful 
monolithic  columns,  surmounted  by  Corinthian  capitals, 
elaborately  and  exquisitely  sculptured.  Between  these 
columns  there  are  shell-niches  on  the  wall  of  the  cella, 
and  the  emblems  forming  part  of  their  arches  show 
the  patron  goddess  of  this  temple  to  have  been  Venus. 


x8o  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Over  one  hovered  the  dove  of  the  goddess,  on  another 
she  was  shown  emerging  from  a  shell  between  two 
small  cupids.  The  star-pointed  shape  of  the  structure, 
with  one  of  the  beautiful  columns  at  each  point,  can  be 
seen  in  the  picture  painted  of  this  interesting  subject. 

The  doorposts  of  the  stately  portal  of  this  shrine 
were  large  monoliths.  Until  the  excavations  also  made 
here,  under  the  direction  of  the  German  archaeologists, 
the  imposing  flight  of  stone  stairs  leading  up  to  the 
temple  was  completely  buried,  beneath  debris  and  mud. 
No  one,  indeed,  had  any  notion  of  its  existence,  as  the 
accumulations  of  centuries  had  mounted  as  far  as 
the  bases  of  the  shell-niches.  Now  there  runs  around 
the  building  a  ditch  deep  and  broad  as  a  moat,  showing 
the  platform  of  massive  stones,  and  the  broken  dilapi¬ 
dated  steps  of  the  once  splendid  ascent  to  the  shrine 
of  the  goddess. 

There  were  no  altars  to  Love  under  the  ancient 
cult  that  did  not  tend  to  the  exercise  of  its  visible 
empire  on  the  devotees  to  its  worship.  So  it  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at  that  according  to  Eusebius,  the 
people  of  Heliopolis  of  the  Phoenicians — meaning  Baalbek 
— worshipping  Venus  under  the  name  of  Hydon,  grew 
effeminate  and  superstitious  to  a  degree.  The  fame  of 
the  orgies  attending  the  ceremonies  of  festival  and  feast 
became  so  widely  celebrated  that  the  temple  was  closed 
by  order  of  Constantine  the  Great,  who  also  converted 
into  a  basilica  for  Christian  worship  the  great  forecourt 
of  the  Temple  of  the  Sun. 

There  is  a  local  legend  to  the  effect  that  St.  Barbara 


Thr  Temple  of  Venus,  Baalbek. 


To  face  page  1S0. 


. 


•'  "  J  '  ■  pH  (I 


■ 


Day  of  Raising  the  Keystone  181 

suffered  martyrdom  in  connection  with  this  same  Temple 
of  Venus.  To  this  day  Moslems  and  Christians  alike 
call  the  ruined  temple  El-Berbara,  and  to  confirm  their 
story  of  its  transformation  from  a  shrine  of  the  goddess 
of  love  into  a  Christian  church,  they  show  on 
the  interior  of  the  cella  a  Greek  cross  painted  within 
a  circle. 

Not  far  from  this  Temple  of  Venus  there  is  a 
large  mosque  now  in  ruins.  Originally  it  was  a 
church  dedicated  to  St.  John,  but  when  the  Moslems 
conquered  Baalbek  they  made  of  the  Christian  place 
of  worship  a  mosque  which  became  famous.  The 
three  rows  of  fine  columns  still  standing  are  of  them¬ 
selves  worthy  to  be  visited,  especially  as  one  of  the 
rows  is  composed  of  eight  immense  pillars  of  red  granite 
which  stood  originally  in  the  vestibule  of  the  great 
Temple  of  the  Sun. 

To  Baalbek,  as  to  so  many  even  of  the  remote  places 
of  Syria,  knowledge  has  penetrated  of  the  greater  freedom 
existing  for  individual  enterprise  in  countries  beyond 
the  blue  Levant,  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Turk. 
Emigration,  especially  from  the  Christian  quarter, 
has  been  frequent.  But  the  Syrian  once  abroad  ceases 
not  to  hanker  after  the  place  of  his  birth.  Distance 
throws  a  glamour  over  the  drawbacks  of  penury  and 
labour  he  suffered  in  boyhood.  When  he  has  amassed 
ever  so  small  a  capital,  he  will  return  with  a  song  on 
his  lips,  and  a  paean  of  thanksgiving  in  his  heart,  and 
try  to  engraft  the  shoots  of  his  new  experiences  and 
wisdom  on  native  soil. 


1 82  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

He  builds  a  house  and  enlarges  to  his  friends  on 
the  attention  and  interest  he  created  in  the  world  all 
unknown  to  the  man  who  has  spent  his  life  on  the 
spot  of  earth  where  he  came  into  existence.  Often 

enough  there  comes  a  reaction.  He  finds  himself 

cramped,  hedged  in,  in  all  his  undertakings.  Not  a 

tree  can  he  plant  in  his  garden  without  adding  to  the 

taxation  already  pressing  hard  upon  his  little  all.  While 
dreaming  over  his  nargili  he  sees  in  painful  vision  the 
probable  vanishing  of  all  his  hard-won  gains.  If  he  be 
a  Christian,  the  limitations  are  increased.  The  position 
he  covets  for  himself  is  given  as  a  matter  of  course  to 
the  Moslem. 

For  the  woman  who  returns  with  her  husband  after 
sharing  his  labours  in  a  far-off  country,  be  it  America, 
England,  or  Australia,  to  which  country  many  of  the 
Baalbek  folk  have  flitted,  disillusion  is  still  more  rapid. 
Too  easily  she  has  slipped  into  the  customs  and  enjoyed 
the  liberty  of  the  woman  her  sister  in  lands  of  the 
unveiled.  In  the  land  of  the  harem  and  veil  she  makes 
discovery  that  she  has  lost  her  place,  nor  has  she  the 
smallest  inclination  to  creep  in  and  find  it  again.  But 
the  anomalous  position  she  is  forced  to  content  herself 
with,  a  status  granting  neither  freedom  nor  seclusion, 
becomes  equally  irksome.  She  falls  a  prey  to  depression 
and  monotony,  regretting  unceasingly  the  lost  flavour 
of  that  liberty  she  had  once  tasted  and  found  good. 
To  women  such  as  these  the  ladies  of  the  foreign 
missions  who  settle  in  their  town  or  village  often  become 
the  true  friends  in  need. 


Day  of  Raising  the  Keystone  183 

It  was  a  case  of  the  kind  I  had  in  mind  as  I 
ascended  the  hill  behind  the  town  to  take  one  last  survey 
of  the  beautiful  prospect  at  sunset  the  evening  before  we 
came  away.  Near  the  summit  I  met  the  object  of  my 
meditation,  and  we  sat  down  near  each  other  on  the 
grey  rocks  at  the  edge  of  the  slope.  Only  the  ordinary 
salutation  of  the  passer-by  had  passed  between  us,  for 
it  was  not  the  woman  herself  I  knew,  only  the  story 
of  her  lot.  She  sat  down  embracing  her  knees,  staring 
with  vacant  eyes  into  the  distance,  as  though  weighed 
down  by  a  dull  and  unintelligible  depression. 

The  sun  was  hidden  in  part  behind  a  streaked  stratum 
of  thin  cloud  sweeping  round  the  horizon.  Through 
the  delicate  grey  layers  it  suffused  a  yellow  lustre  like 
the  reflection  of  its  own  rays  on  the  sea,  and  made  a 
golden  pathway  down  to  the  opposite  mountain-ridge, 
which  was  edged  with  the  same  bright  yellow,  the  colour 
of  ripe  corn.  The  hill-line  rose  beneath  the  setting  sun 
with  a  magnificent  curve,  swerving  abruptly  to  the  foot¬ 
hills,  behind  which  towered  the  distant  mountain-peak 
of  lofty  Sannin  surrounded  by  a  grey  sky  which  had 
one  broad  veiled  streak  of  orange  merging  from  it  into 
the  golden  sun-path. 

A  mysterious  blush  of  purple  crept  along  the  extended 
hill-range  towards  which  stretched  the  burnt-up  soil 
of  the  plain.  The  woods  were  silent  and  expectant, 
awaiting  the  magic  instant  that  would  transmute  their 
uniform  deep  green  hue  to  the  brilliancy  of  emerald. 
Half  a  mile  from  the  town,  a  little  distance  away  from 
the  high-road,  shone  the  mirror-like  face  of  a  pool. 


184  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

People  walking  on  the  road  below  looked  like  children. 
The  clatter  of  horses’  hoofs  rang  out  at  intervals  ;  a  shout 
from  the  workmen  in  the  ruins  sounded  clear  and  loud. 

The  golden  path  in  the  sky  was  now  blotted  out  ; 
subdued  light  deeper  and  stronger  filtered  through  the 
clouds.  Light  appeared  to  be  struggling  into  the  warmth 
of  a  brilliant  after-glow,  but  in  vain — the  gold  tarnished 
and  suddenly  faded,  leaving  a  chill  lavender  sky  that 
seemed  an  image  of  the  monotony  of  life. 

The  woman  near  me  dropped  her  head  into  her 
hands  as  though  consciously  or  unconsciously  affected 
by  the  symbolism  touching  her  own  life  so  closely. 
With  a  sudden  movement  as  if  imbued  with  a  fresh 
spirit  of  courage  or  fortitude  she  again  raised  her  head 
and  looked  directly  westward. 

Lo  !  A  wonderful  transformation ;  the  greyness 
coming  to  life.  A  tender  Venetian  red  was  tingeing 
the  spreading  film  of  cloud,  the  purity  of  its  tone  growing 
warmer  in  hue  though  never  brilliant.  It  was  a  type 
of  hope  revived  represented  by  the  repeated  surprises  of 
one  of  Nature’s  own  pictures. 

The  colour,  subdued  and  delicate,  faded  to  palest 
salmon  on  the  upper  layers  of  cloud,  which  extended 
south  in  immense  curving  lines,  while  the  broad  masses 
spread  out  again  from  south  to  east.  Above  them  sailed 
the  new  moon,  her  golden  crescent  lightly  veiled  by 
the  airy  cloud-fringe.  The  hills  changed  to  deepest 
purple,  the  western  sky  darkened  to  the  hue  of  burnished 
copper.  It  was  the  last  outburst  of  colour  before 
relapsing  to  the  same  cold  grey  as  before. 


Day  of  Raising  the  Keystone  185 

Simultaneously  we  rose  to  our  feet.  The  night  was 
upon  us.  The  woman  passed  down  the  hill  before  me. 
Early  on  the  following  morning  we  left  Baalbek,  imbued 
with  the  feeling  that  we  had  said  good-bye  to  one  of  the 
rare  spots  on  God’s  earth  of  which  the  sun  seemed  the 
eternal  guardian,  and  from  which  even  the  Turk’s 
injustice  could  not  banish  its  beauty. 

And  yet  it  was  under  Turkish  jurisdiction  that  the 
Christians  of  the  town  were  even  then  being  justified  in 
their  resentment  against  Metawileh  insolence. 


VOL.  1 


24 


CHAPTER  XIV 


LEX  TALI  ON  IS  AND  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WINDS 

IN  all  parts  of  Syria  the  ancient  law  of  retaliation,  or 
blood-revenge  for  the  life  of  a  kinsman,  still  main¬ 
tains  a  potent  sway  over  the  minds  of  the  people,  whether 
Christian  or  non-Christian.  It  is  evident  that  even  in 
the  days  of  the  Mosaic  dispensation  it  was  so  deeply 
rooted  in  the  customs  of  the  various  Oriental  tribes, 
settled  or  nomadic,  that  the  famous  Lex  Talionis  was  but 
embodied  in  the  great  Levitical  Code  for  the  purpose 
of  setting  a  limit  to  vengeance.  It  is  one  of  the  terrible 
features  of  this  vengeance  that  when  the  man-slayer  has 
been  caught  and  killed — whether  his  original  crime  was 
committed  in  self-defence,  accidentally,  or  on  purpose — 
the  obligation  then  shifts  to  the  opposite  side,  which  in 
its  turn  exacts  vengeance  for  the  fresh  life  taken. 

This  creates  a  vendetta  which  goes  on  unceasingly 
between  opposing  families,  chiefly  of  different  tribes  or 
sects.  If  the  murderer  himself  cannot  be  found  or  in 
any  way  reached,  then  the  blood-revenge  can  be  exacted 
through  another  member  of  the  same  family.  In  a  word, 
any  and  every  member  of  a  family,  women  and  children 
exempted,  can  at  any  unguarded  moment  be  made  the 
scapegoat  for  the  crime  of  a  kinsman,  once  such  a  feud 


Lex  Talionis 


187 


is  started  between  his  family  and  another.  Thus  it  has 
often  happened  that  the  husbands,  fathers,  and  the 
grown-up  brothers  of  the  antagonistic  families,  from  one 
generation  to  another,  have  lived  an  existence  of  daily 
danger  of  their  lives,  a  peril  which  they  were  constantly 
seeking  to  shun. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  often  considered  a  sufficient 
compensation  in  these  days,  at  any  rate  for  the  accidental 
killing  of  a  man  of  one  tribe  by  a  member  of  another 
tribe,  to  receive  a  sum  of  money,  in  other  words  the 
blood-ransom,  and  also  a  wife  from  the  family  of  the 
murderer.  This  alternative  has  gained  weight  in  many 
districts,  partly  through  the  dislike  to  begin  fresh  feuds 
so  disadvantageous  to  family  prosperity,  partly  through 
the  repugnance  of  the  Moslem  to  take  life  (unless  of  an 
unbeliever),  a  repugnance  which  will  hold  back  his  fingers 
itching  to  snatch  at  the  ever-ready  knife  in  his  girdle, 
while  hurtling  upon  his  adversary  in  a  quarrel  the 
lengthiest  and  direst  anathemas  the  tongue  of  man  can 
let  loose  in  any  language  under  the  sun.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  tragedy  in  the  Lebanon,  already  alluded 
to,  was  rendered  bloodier  and  fiercer  by  the  opportunity 
of  venting  the  revengeful  feelings  of  long-standing  feuds 
which  had  been  rigorously  dammed  for  many  years  by 
stringent  measures  of  the  enlightened  and  famous  Emir 
Beshir. 

It  was  under  conditions  of  a  slackening  sense  of 
the  obligations  entailed  by  this  ancient  law  of  retaliation 
that  the  following  drama  was  set  in  motion,  and  finally 
worked  to  a  climax  of  tragedy  by  the  influence  of 


1 88 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

exterior  elements  of  nature  acting  through  the  physical 
senses  upon  the  fatalistic  propensity  of  the  Oriental. 

For  three  interminable  days  the  khamsin  had  blown 
hotly  over  the  highlands  of  Lebanon.  Vegetation  was 
parched,  dumb  creation  gasped  in  distress,  humanity 
collapsed  into  inertia  of  brain  and  body.  With  the 
passing  away  of  the  fourth  night  a  scarcely  perceptible 
change  crept  into  the  life-emptied  air. 

A  man  sleeping  on  the  roof  of  his  cube-shaped  hut 
lifted  his  head  with  the  gesture  of  a  beast  scenting  rain 
after  a  long  drought. 

“  Allah  be  praised  !  ”  he  muttered.  “  The  wind  from 
the  sea.” 

In  the  chaste  subdued  light  of  dawn  every  outline 
of  the  sun-baked  mud  roofs  of  the  village,  the  massed 
foliage  of  the  mulberry-groves,  the  silhouettes  of  the 
poplars,  and  the  vine-clad  stony  terraces  of  the  hill-slopes 
were  clearly  defined.  The  ravines  and  valleys  hidden 
between  the  tiers  of  mountain-ridges,  which  formed  a 
majestic  amphitheatre  round  this  upland  village,  were 
marked  every  one  in  its  place  by  a  striking  phenomenon 
of  the  early  morning. 

The  hidden  depths  were  filled  to  their  mountain 
rims  with  snowy  foam  of  mist — mist  in  its  purest 
form  unsullied  by  taint  of  urban  smoke  or  dust,  ethereal 
and  motionless,  like  arrested  waves  or  airily  piled  masses 
of  spectral,  translucent  snow.  The  wind,  scorching  as 
dragon’s  breath,  that  had  blown  incessantly  through  the 
night,  was  calm  and  restrained. 


Lex  Talionis 


189 

For  a  moment  the  man’s  sleep-drugged  gaze  wandered 
over  the  prospect,  then  with  quickly  sharpening  mien, 
he  turned  and  peered  over  the  side  of  his  hut  to  the 
large  stony  space  of  flat  ground  below  the  bank. 
Recollection  had  arisen  of  the  tinkling  of  camel-bells 
introduced  into  the  dreams  of  his  laboured  slumbers. 

To  whomsoever  was  familiar  the  name  of  Hassan 
the  goatherd  was  known  the  incubus  of  a  vendetta 
which  had  oppressed  him  for  several  years,  also  the 
perennial  and  acute  interest  stirred  ever  to  life  in  an 
ordinary  flaccid  mind  by  the  sound  of  camel-bells. 

It  was  Hassan’s  brother  who  had  been  killed — 
inadvertently,  with  no  evil  intent  had  sworn  the 
aggressor’s  kinsmen — in  a  quarrel  springing  up  between 
the  two  herdsmen  brothers  and  a  Bedawin  grain-trader 
of  the  Hauran,  who  passed  near  the  village  with  camels 
laden  for  the  Beyrout  wheat  market. 

Not  once,  however,  since  that  day  of  doom  for  his 
brother  had  Hassan  met  his  enemy  actually  face  to  face, 
notwithstanding  that  he  had  made  a  laborious  journey 
into  the  Hauran  for  the  sole  purpose  of  demanding 
the  idemnity  it  was  his  due  to  exact  in  lieu  of  the 
drastic  alternative  of  Lex  Talionis. 

Surety  had  been  duly  given  him  for  rendition  of 
the  blood-price  in  a  stated  course  of  time,  but  the 
far-away  Bedawin  camp  was  distant  from  the  highland 
village  of  Lebanon  a  journey  of  many  days.  Procrasti¬ 
nation,  that  staple  element  of  Oriental  transactions, 
readily  developed.  Messages  innumerable  and  menacing 
had  been  entrusted  to  the  caravans  which  passed  to 


190  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

and  from  the  Hauran  through  the  village.  Many  of 
these  for  a  long  time  back  had  given  the  vicinity  a  wide 
berth,  changing  their  route  to  elude  the  inevitable  stormy 
altercations  with  Hassan  and  the  zealous  partisans  of  his 
just  claims. 

Yet  even  the  kinsfolk  of  Hassan  turned  round  at 
last  to  taunt  him  with  an  unjustifiable  phlegma  in  ful¬ 
filling  the  sacred  obligations  involved  by  his  intimate 
relationship  with  the  victim  of  the  Bedawi’s  rage.  These 
attacks  never  failed  to  fire  Hassan  to  display  of  a  mighty 
indignation.  Yet  still  he  delayed.  He  was  a  poor  man 
with  a  family  to  support  and  always  put  to  sore  straits 
for  subsistence  during  the  hard  winters  of  highland 
Lebanon.  The  indemnity  he  and  his  wife  felt  assured 
of  gaining  eventually  would  be  of  more  value  than  the 
unprofitable  shedding  of  blood,  which  would  only  revert 
the  flow  of  vengeance  upon  himself  and  his  whole 
family. 

The  months  of  waiting  slipped  into  a  year,  season 
merged  into  season,  until  now,  when  this  particular 
khamsin  had  burned  irritability  into  men’s  minds  after 
exhausting  and  poisoning  the  very  life  of  the  air  they 
breathed,  four  summers  had  passed  away,  and  still 
the  death  of  Hassan’s  brother  remained  unexpiated  in 
any  shape  or  form. 

At  sunset  of  the  previous  day  Hassan,  wrought  to 
a  state  of  tension,  had  sworn  to  a  group  of  scornful 
villagers  by  the  most  binding  oaths  of  his  religion 
that  once  the  grape  season  was  over  he  would  again 
set  out  for  the  Hauran,  and,  without  waiting  for  vindi- 


DRUSE  HOUSE,  MOUNT  LEBANON. 


Lex  Talionis 


191 

cation  of  the  failed  pledge,  fall  upon  and  exterminate 
every  male  of  the  house  of  his  foe. 

This  morning  at  dawn  he  looked  down  from  his 
roof  and  saw  through  the  pallid  light  a  group  of 
recumbent  camels.  At  the  foot  of  the  terrace  bank 
dropping  sheer  with  his  house-wall  lay  a  couple  of 
Bedawin  drivers  motionless  in  sleep  as  the  dead. 

One  of  them  lay  on  his  back,  upturning  to  full  gaze 
of  the  onlooker  above  the  face  of  the  brother  of  the 
murderer. 

“  It  is  the  will  of  Allah  plainly  revealed,”  muttered 
Hassan,  dumfounded,  yet  fearsomely  elate.  c<  This  is 
a  sign  undoubtedly  that  to  the  charge  of  this  man  who 
has  lied  to  me  from  the  beginning  is  to  be  laid  the  sin 
of  his  brother.  Verily  into  my  hands  direct  has  Allah 
under  the  veil  of  night  guided  his  footsteps.  This 
moment  will  I  go  down  from  my  house  and  slay  him 
where  he  sleeps.” 

While  he  fumbled  in  his  girdle,  his  eyes  red  and 
fiery  with  awakened  lust  for  a  prompt  vengeance,  a 
child’s  whimper  sounded  from  the  house  beneath  him. 
Hassan’s  searching  hand  had  found  what  it  sought  and 
the  fingers  tightened  on  the  bossy  hilt,  but  of  a  sudden 
his  will  to  withdraw  the  knife  from  its  sheath  halted, 
the  tense  ferocity  of  gaze  slackened.  He  raised  his 
head  to  glance  furtively  around  on  all  sides.  The 
alteration  of  mood  implied  a  wavering,  and  mingled  with 
it  a  secret  undefined  hope  that  no  other  eye  had  observed 
this  opportunity  placed  before  him  by  destiny  of  meting 
due  and  drastic  justice. 


192  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Not  a  human  soul  seemed  to  be  astir  or  even 
awake  in  the  nest  of  low  buildings  yonder  as  Hassan 
surveyed  the  outlook  with  suspicious,  seeking  gaze. 

Just  as  his  restless  look  of  indecision  withdrew  from 
the  houses,  the  mist  filling  the  deep,  broad  valley 
immediately  below  the  village  began  to  stir  and  glide 
gently  forward.  Like  the  moving  scene  of  a  gigantic 
white  wall  it  advanced,  opaque,  perpendicular,  tossing 
out,  like  feelers  groping  for  the  groove  in  which  to 
guide  its  course,  airy,  whirling  wisps  of  diaphanous 
haze.  Its  upper  border  was  alight  with  a  pearly 
iridescence,  and  it  coiled  and  curved  upward  and  on¬ 
ward  in  wraithlike  shapes,  which  augmented  in  rapid 
movement  as  the  whole  vast  cloud  of  mist  uprose  from 
the  valley  and  travelled  to  the  east,  making  steady, 
silent  headway  against  the  subdued  air  from  the 
desert. 

Speedily  the  vapoury  emanations  scattered  and  rose 
to  weave  their  filmy  fibres  into  a  pallid  veil  that  spread 
over  the  pure  aquamarine  of  the  morning  sky,  hiding 
from  view  some  clouds  sailing  white  and  aloof  through 
lofty  spaces.  As  the  mist  approached  and  came  in 
contact  with  the  eastern  hills,  which  closed  in  the 
upland  valley,  the  wind  of  the  desert  blowing  insidiously 
downward  whirled  back  the  airy  snowy  masses  in  such 
fashion  that  the  low  denser  portion  of  the  wall  of  mist 
continued  its  advance,  while  feathery  streamers  and 
huge  detached  tufts  of  vapour  were  driven  backward 
above  in  vapoury  chaos. 

Hassan’s  agitated  gaze  was  arrested,  then  held,  by 


Lex  Talionis 


193 


the  unique  spectacle  of  this  phenomenon.  Again  came 
the  whimpering  cry  from  beneath  his  feet.  His  youngest 
born  was  feverish  and  fretful  after  the  dry  scorching 
heat  of  the  three  preceding  days. 

And  now  the  west  wind  began  to  blow  with  strong 
gusty  breath,  driving  the  mist  before  it  right  up  the 
eastern  hills,  scattering  it  between  the  pine-trees  which 
crowned  the  summits,  and  swiftly  screening  them  from 
view.  Over  the  western  mountain-tops,  flushing  the 
stagnant  heat  strata  of  the  gulches  and  vales,  blew 
the  conquering  air  from  the  sea,  cool,  vital,  re¬ 
freshing.  Stealthily  to  meet  and  oppose  it  the  scorching 
desert  breath  stole  down  the  eastern  slopes. 

Another  look  charged  with  hatred  and  fear  threw 
Hassan  on  the  face  of  the  man  whom  he  so  strongly 
desired  to  make  the  scapegoat  for  the  brother’s  deed. 
Then  with  elbows  akimbo  he  squatted  on  his  heels  and 
set  himself  intently,  expectantly,  yet  doggedly  to  watch 
the  conflict  of  the  winds  enacting  before  his  eyes  in  the 
deep  wide  valley  below  the  village. 

“  I  will  take  it  for  a  sign,”  he  said  to  himself.  “  If 
the  desert  prevail,  then  will  I  let  him  go,  for  he  is  desert 
born  and  his  ignorance  was  born  with  him.  If  the  wind 
from  the  sea  drives  the  khamsin  back  to  its  furnace 
in  Eblis,  then  will  I  kill  him.  For  it  will  be  the  duty 
imaged  to  my  sight  and  decreed  of  Allah.” 

Now  the  whole  panorama  of  hills  and  vales  was 
immersed  in  sea  mist.  Untiringly  the  volatile  vaporous 
masses  sweeping  upwards  from  countless  recesses  of  the 
great  mountain  chain  whirled  into  the  contest,  Weird 
VOL.  I  25 


194  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

and  fascinating  was  the  struggle  for  pre-eminence.  For 
between  the  opposing  currents  of  air  was  trapped  the 
mist  and  driven  hither  and  thither  at  their  will,  now 
one  prevailing,  now  the  other,  while  each  in  its  determined 
struggle  to  thrust  the  other  back  tossed  the  mist  sky- 
high  in  gigantic  spiral  masses.  It  was  an  image  of  the 
human  will  whipped  hither  and  thither  in  the  contest 
between  good  and  evil,  between  the  aerial  battalions  of 
Yezad  and  Ahriman. 

In  suspense  almost  unbearable  the  man  on  the  house¬ 
top  stared  distractedly  before  him.  Which  would  prevail, 
the  desert  or  the  sea  ?  One  instant  he  clapped  his  hand 
to  his  girdle  only  the  next  to  withdraw  it  in  haste. 
Below  in  the  shade  of  the  bank  the  Bedawin  woke  not 
from  their  torpid  slumber.  They  had  travelled  too 
far  in  the  dust  and  enervating  heat  of  the  khamsin  to 
be  lightly  roused. 

Suddenly  rose  Hassan  to  his  feet. 

With  a  rushing  onset  of  victorious  bluster  the  west 
wind  swept  by,  bearing  the  mist  tumultuously  onward 
till  again  the  hill-slopes  and  pine-crested  ridges  were 
blotted  alike  from  the  landscape. 

With  the  haste  of  a  man  who  dares  not  delay  lest 
resolution  should  swerve,  Hassan  descended  the  steps 
from  the  roof  to  the  terrace.  Thence  he  crept  noiselessly 
down  the  precipitous  track  of  the  bank  towards  the 
sleeping  man,  with  the  stealth  of  the  primitive  hunter 
stalking  his  unconscious  prey. 

“In  the  name  of  Allah  !  what  hast  thou  been 


Lex  Talionis 


*9  5 


doing  ?  ”  ejaculated  a  woman’s  shrill  voice  from  the 
penumbra  of  the  interior  as  Hassan  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  doorway  of  his  hut,  his  eyeballs  starting  out  of 
his  head,  the  knife  in  his  hand  a  suggestive  witness  of 
some  fatality  underlying  his  acute  agitation. 

“  At  last  I  have  taken  the  blood-price  of  my  brother’s 
life  unlawfully  withheld  and  now  given  into  my  hand 
by  the  decree  of  fate,”  said  Hassan,  bending  forward 
into  the  hut  and  hissing  the  words  in  a  whispering, 
penetrating  voice. 

“  Madman  !  Then  hast  thou  ruined  thyself  and  thy 
whole  household.  Fly  before  it  is  too  late  or  thou  wilt 
be  discovered,”  threw  back  the  woman.  “  Oh,  Hassan  ! 
Oh,  Hassan  !  ”  she  moaned,  as  she  put  down  on  the 
matting  the  child  at  her  breast  and  darted  to  the  door, 
whence  she  watched  the  man  swing  down  into  the  road¬ 
way  and  vanish  quickly  from  her  sight. 

Down  the  road  he  fled,  instinctively  bent  upon  making 
his  way  to  the  rocky  recesses  of  ravine  and  hill  below 
the  village.  Through  them  and  beyond,  by  secret  tracks 
trodden  only  of  the  goats,  already  he  had  definite  idea 
of  penetrating  to  the  big  town  on  the  sea-coast. 

His  heart  was  curiously  light,  albeit  he  knew  not 
when  again  he  would  return  to  his  home.  The  burden 
of  years  had  fallen  from  him,  for  what  he  had  done 
he  was  convinced  was  ordained  of  Allah.  A  day  had 
come  when  his  neighbours  and  acquaintances  would  say 
of  him  :  “  Hassan  is  a  man  !  He  has  avenged  his 
brother.  He  always  said  he  would  do  it.” 

If  only  he  could  have  hearkened  to  the  words  of 


196  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

praise  with  his  own  ears,  but  he  knew  what  his  wife  had 
meant  by  her  prompt  warning.  The  law  of  the  hated 
Turk  and  Frank  would  intervene  to  visit  with  drastic 
punishment  him  who  adhered  to  the  enactment  of  justice 
as  understood  by  the  forebears  of  Hassan,  and  therefore 
by  himself. 

One  regret  alone  attended  the  perpetration  of  his 
act  of  retaliation — that  it  was  the  brother,  not  the 
murderer  himself,  who  had  been  delivered  into  his  hands. 
But  who  was  he,  asked  Hassan  the  goatherd  of  himself, 
that  he  should  set  up  his  own  desires  in  opposition  to 
the  sign  plainly  demonstrated  by  the  issue  of  the  battle 
of  the  winds  ? 

All  at  once  he  stopped  running.  There  was  suspicion, 
a  piercing  almost  frantic  inquiry  in  the  way  he  dilated 
his  nostrils  and  snuffed  the  air  as  he  came  to  abrupt 
halt. 

Above  the  eastern  hills  still  wrapped  in  mist  a 
new  force  had  entered  the  plain  of  aerial  activity.  With 
this  the  west  wind  now  had  to  reckon.  The  mist  grew 
light  in  one  particular  spot  which  spread  rapidly,  the 
light  behind  growing  brighter,  intenser,  penetrating  and 
scattering  the  mist  until  through  a  grey  transparency 
the  lost  outlines  of  the  ridge  and  dark  hillside  slowly 
evolved. 

But  before  the  morning  sun  pierced  the  last  filmy 
barrier  of  mist  its  shimmering  orb  vanished  behind  a 
cloudlet  suspended  above  the  hill.  The  cloud  became 
an  island  of  tender  lavender  hue  afloat  on  a  lake  of 
silvery  sheen. 


Lex  Talionis 


r97 


And  of  a  sudden  the  sky  cleared,  the  mist  fell  away, 
slipping  northward  over  the  mountain-tops,  and  sinking 
westward  into  the  cloudland  of  fog  still  prevailing  dense 
and  opaque  in  the  depths  of  the  gullies  and  valleys. 
Overhead  the  glistening  veil  rolled  from  the  zenith 
earthward,  unfolding  again  the  azure  spaces  of  heaven  with 
the  far-away  clouds  unchanged. 

Hassan  turned  his  face  to  the  east.  As  one  surprised 
then  paralysed  by  some  untoward  happening  he  stood 
riveted  to  the  spot.  Then,  as  though  impelled  by  an 
instinct  stronger  than  sense,  he  cast  his  gaze  forward. 

On  a  spur  of  rock  projecting  over  a  descent  dropping 
sheer  to  the  torrent  at  its  base  sat  a  man  on  his  heels, 
his  back  to  the  road.  An  agal  thick  as  a  rope  clipped  a 
black  keffiyeh  to  his  head.  With  the  sudden  movement 
of  one  under  the  magnetism  of  a  strong  gaze  the 
Bedawi  turned  to  view  his  swarthy  face,  and  at  once 
beheld  the  distorted,  aghast  visage  of  Hassan  the 
goatherd. 

With  a  quick  guttural  exclamation  he  sprang  lithely 
to  his  feet.  The  evil  he  had  calculated  to  elude  by 
avoiding  the  village  where  his  caravan  had  been  forced 
to  halt  upon  this  journey  to  refill  their  waterskins  had 
come  forth  to  meet  him  by  the  way. 

On  the  instant  that  Hassan  recognised  his  enemy  he 
also  knew  for  a  certainty  that  he  had  given  too  hasty 
an  interpretation  to  the  sign  given  him  by  fate. 
For  the  air  now  playing  on  his  cheek  was  warm  and 
languorous. 

He  turned  and  fled  precipitously,  and  as  he  ran 


198  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

with  confidence  abandoned,  mocked  of  destiny  and  a  prey 
to  torturing  terror,  he  ceased  not  to  curse  himself  and 
the  deception  of  the  winds. 

For  now  the  pursued  would  become  the  pursuer. 

The  wind  of  the  desert  had  conquered. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  ROOTS  OF  LEBANON 

IN  the  neighbourhood  of  Beyrout,  situated  within  a 
few  hours’  drive  up  the  terraced  slopes  of  that 
splendid  background  of  the  Lebanon  hills,  there  are 
many  favourite  summer  resorts  of  the  residents  on  the 
plains  and  of  the  city.  From  every  one  of  these  sunny 
villages  is  to  be  viewed  the  same  exquisite  panorama 
of  sea  and  plain,  a  living  picture  of  permanent  beauty 
ever  before  their  eyes. 

To  these  pleasant  resting-places,  such  as  Areya,  Aleih, 
Ain  Anub,  and  others,  there  are  good  carriage-roads — 
on  which  diligences  also  ply  in  summer-time — which 
wind  upwards,  doubling  like  serpents  upon  themselves, 
now  passing  through  pine-woods  and  vineyards,  now 
creeping  along  the  brink  of  some  deep  ravine  with  the 
rocky-bedded  river  glistening  far  below,  almost  hidden 
by  the  thickly  foliaged  banks.  Handsome  villas  have 
sprung  up  everywhere  in  these  hill  resorts,  with  wide 
terraces,  and  shady  verandahs,  painted  and  shuttered  with 
contrasting  colours,  as  in  Italy,  adding  to  the  sunny  and 
rich  effect  of  that  Eastern  atmosphere  and  blazing  light. 

The  flourishing  Druse  village  of  Esh-Schweifat  lies 
some  six  miles  south  of  Beyrout,  about  two  miles  from 


200 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

the  coast  on  a  low  hill  of  the  lofty  background.  It  is 
a  delightful  drive,  almost  parallel  with  the  sea,  though 
at  a  distance  of  several  miles,  with  a  great  forest  of 
olive-trees  intervening  between  the  road  and  red  sand 
of  the  strand  that  is  characteristic  of  the  Ras  Beyrout. 
This  great  stretch  of  olive  growth  is  worthy  of  note, 
as  it  is  the  finest  in  the  country,  and  so  extensive  and 
unbroken — nine  miles  long — that  people  have  been  known 
to  lose  themselves  in  the  multiplicity  of  tracks  which 
all  bear  so  similar  an  aspect. 

Esh-Schweifat  itself  is  picturesquely  posed  on  two 
ridges  sloping  to  the  plain  with  the  fertile  wadi  of  the 
same  name  dipping  between  the  Christian  and  Druse 
quarters  of  the  village.  The  Druse  houses,  showing 
their  pillared  entrances  and  outside  staircases,  were  massed 
thickly  on  the  narrow  descending  spur  across  the  gorge, 
the  glittering  roofs,  terraces,  and  numerous  palm-trees, 
silhouetted  with  the  effect  of  old  ivory  in  the  green 
against  the  deep  blue  of  the  sea  and  the  richly  clad  plain. 
The  aspect  of  the  whole  village  was  peculiarly  Oriental, 
the  abundant  flora  and  richness  of  shrub  and  fruit  growth 
enhancing  this  impression. 

Some  thirty  years  ago  schools  for  Syrian  boys  and 
girls  were  established  in  this  village  by  Miss  Proctor, 
a  lady  who  acted  in  the  matter  of  providing  a  means  of 
education  for  the  intelligent  youth  of  Syria  independent 
of  any  of  the  missions  established  in  the  country. 
From  the  terrace  of  the  school  buildings  situated  on 
the  top  of  the  ridge  over  against  the  Druse  quarter 
was  a  beautiful  view  over  the  Christian  quarter,  the 


The  Roots  of  Lebanon  201 


garden-like  roofs,  the  palm-trees  rising  between,  huge 
cactus  growth  with  yellow  blossom  tipping  the  grotesque¬ 
shaped  fingers,  and  pomegranate  trees  brilliant  in  scarlet 
bloom. 

Brummana  and  Bet  Meri,  two  other  favoured  resorts, 
are  perched  so  high  on  the  amphitheatre  of  hills  looking 
down  the  great  plain  of  Beyrout  and  St.  George’s  Bay, 
that  the  villages  look  like  clusters  of  dolls’-houses,  or 
of  white  boulders,  and  the  pines  crowning  the  ridge  as 
diminutive  as  those  of  a  Noah’s  ark.  The  drive  is 
about  twelve  miles,  and  full  of  beauty  and  interest.  The 
first  three  miles  wind  across  the  level  through  mulberry- 
groves  and  orchards  of  every  description,  hedges  of 
cactus,  and  of  tall  maize  growing  luxuriantly.  Then 
begins  the  ascent,  twisting  and  coiling  back  upon 
itself,  with  pine-trees  on  all  sides,  but  never  too  dense 
or  high  to  conceal  the  view,  which  extends  and  broadens 
the  higher  the  carriage  crawls. 

Bet  Meri  is  reached  first  on  the  ridge  of  the  hill. 
With  the  small  native  dwellings  of  the  villagers  are 
interspersed  modern  villas  of  every  description,  with 
bright-hued  sun-shutters,  deep  awnings,  vine-covered 
terraces,  and  anything  and  everything  that  man  can  devise 
to  adjust  the  conditions  of  a  Syrian  summer  to  his  own 
demand  for  air,  and  protection  from  the  glaring  heat. 

The  road  continued  along  the  ridge  ;  on  the  one 
side  we  looked  over  plain  and  sea,  which  appeared  to 
rise  high  in  the  sky,  and  on  the  other  into  a  grand 
valley  called  the  Wadi  Salima,  with  precipitous  sides 
descending  to  invisible  depths.  High  on  the  distant 
vol.  1  26 


202 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

slopes,  where  the  great  ridge  opposite  dropped  abruptly, 
revealing  the  junction  of  another  great  wadi  with  the 
one  below,  to  form  together  the  deep  bed  of  the  Beirut 
River,  we  could  see  the  villages  through  which  we  had 
passed  a  few  days  earlier  on  the  railroad  journey  from 
Zahleh  to  Beyrout — Ain  Sofar,  Behamdun,  Aleih,  and 
so  forth,  all  showing  with  distinct  outline  through  the 
wonderful  clarity  of  atmosphere  on  the  grand  mountain- 
flanks. 

Brummana — a  contraction  of  Bet-rummana,  or  house 
of  the  pomegranate — was  only  two  miles  distant.  The 
situation  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  that  could  be 
found  in  any  country  or  clime,  and  the  air  delightful 
after  the  heat  in  Beyrout,  still  most  oppressive  though 
the  time  was  the  end  of  October.  The  sea  is  eighty 
miles  to  the  horizon  and  that  faint,  far-away  shadow 
quivering  on  the  softly  blending  horizon  of  sea  and 
sky  is  Cyprus.  To  the  strand  below  it  looks  but  a 
mere  walk  over  the  pine-wooded  peaks  and  slopes,  past 
the  little  bright-roofed  hamlets  dotted  among  the  green 
down  to  the  water’s  edge. 

Beyrout  was  far  away  to  the  left  on  a  flat  promontory 
(the  Ras  Beirut)  looking  at  night  like  a  fairy  city  with 
its  shimmering  lights  all  merging  into  one  soft  phos¬ 
phorescent  mass,  only  the  lamps  of  the  Pharos  shining 
clear  and  apart  from  the  rest. 

We  happened  to  be  alone  in  the  comfortable  hotel 
and  found  the  solitude  a  luxury  in  such  pleasant  sur¬ 
roundings.  The  basement  of  the  hotel  was  high,  raising 
the  spacious  terrace  which  ran  along  the  front  of  the 


The  Ras-el-Metn. 


The  Roots  of  Lebanon  203 

building  so  far  above  the  high-road  that  dust  from  the 
traffic  of  many  vehicles  did  not  annoy. 

Brummana  was  in  the  district  of  Lebanon  called 
the  Metn,  and  the  headquarters  of  the  Quaker  Mission. 
The  principal  of  these  schools  there,  with  his  wife,  had 
stayed  in  the  same  highland  locanda  as  ourselves  during 
the  great  summer  heat,  and  now  that  we  met  them  in 
their  own  home  they  gave  us  valuable  aid  with  every 
friendly  courtesy  in  visiting  points  of  special  interest  in 
the  vicinity. 

Ras-el-Metn,  the  castellated  village  crowning  the 
ridge  of  the  Metn  seen  from  the  road  between  Brum¬ 
mana  and  Bet  Meri,  was  the  goal  of  one  day’s  expedition. 
It  was  the  most  important  Druse  stronghold  of  the  Metu 
district,  containing  an  old  castle,  of  which  part  had  been 
converted  into  the  local  station  of  the  Friends’  Mission. 
We  started  for  Ras-el-Metn  at  seven  in  the  morning 
by  carriage,  with  the  usual  team  of  three  horses  for  the 
mountain  roads. 

The  first  point  of  interest  to  be  seen  from  the  road 
was  the  monastery  of  Marshaya,  or  St.  Isaiah,  viewed 
on  an  eminence  to  the  left.  It  is  an  hour’s  ride  on 
a  donkey  to  the  summit,  but  the  view  from  the  roof, 
of  which  the  monks  of  St.  Isaiah  are  justly  proud,  is 
well  worth  the  trouble  it  takes  to  obtain. 

Baabdat  was  reached  in  less  than  an  hour,  and  was 
a  place  of  some  importance  with  a  few  fine  residences, 
the  summer  resort  of  more  than  one  high  government 
official.  And  then  the  road  seemed  to  run  mad,  climbing 
one  hill  and  falling  down  the  valley,  then  labouring 


204  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

and  twisting  upwards  again,  passing  the  wildest,  loveliest, 
and  yet,  in  every  respect,  weird  scenery  imagination  can 
conjure  up.  We  went  through  several  small  villages, 
and  noticed  silk  factories  which  seemed  to  be  actively 
working.  They  were  on  the  borders  of  the  well-cultivated 
district  of  the  Kesrawan,  where  there  are  still  many 
flourishing  silk  manufactories  in  spite  of  the  big  annual 
export  to  Marseilles  of  the  raw  silk  and  the  silkworm 
cocoons.  Time  did  not  allow  us  to  halt  on  the  way 
and  enter  the  workshops  to  see  how 

The  silkworm’s  wondrous  tomb, — 

The  bright  cocoon  unrolled, 

Shines  on  the  weaver’s  loom 
With  silvered  threads  and  gold. 

For  nearly  three  hours  we  kept  to  our  carriage  and 
then  alighted,  for  the  road  went  across  ravines  and 
hills  to  Hammana  and  Ain  Sofar,  while  our  destination 
was  away  on  the  rugged  broad  ridge  jutting  out  like 
a  promontory  between  the  two  deep  wadis  of  Hammana 
and  Salima,  which  united  at  its  base  to  form  the  River 
Beirut  (the  ancient  Magoras),  in  winter  a  raging  torrent, 
but  then  a  parched  rocky  river-bed.  Then  came  a 
long  walk  of  very  stiff  and  rough  climbing  on  foot  to 
the  outskirts  of  the  village,  where  we  were  met  by  the 
friend  who  had  seen  our  approach  from  afar. 

The  village  itself  was  of  great  length,  stretching 
along  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  on  an  eminence  dividing 
one-half  of  the  houses  from  the  other  was  the  ancient 
Druse  castle,  once  the  residence  of  emirs  or  princes  of 
the  Lebanon.  Parts  of  it  had  been  renovated  and  added 


The  Roots  of  Lebanon  205 

to,  also  re-roofed  with  red  tiles,  which  were  fortunately 
scarcely  discernible  when  viewing  the  pile  of  buildings 
as  a  whole. 

The  entrance  was  from  the  east  after  a  gradual 
ascent.  The  foundations  below  were  vaulted  with  deep 
archways,  now  shut  in  with  iron  gates  and  door,  but 
formerly  open  and  leading  to  stabling  and  store-places 
beneath  the  castle,  also  to  a  domed,  dark  chamber,  rough 
and  chill,  into  which  prisoners  were  once  thrust  and 
the  heavy  door  fastened  upon  them.  Flights  of  steps 
from  both  sides  led  up  to  the  entrance,  a  deep  archway 
opening  upon  the  court,  which  was  surrounded  by 
small  buildings,  and  doors  conducting  to  the  various 
rooms  of  the  castle. 

On  either  side  of  the  whole  framework  of  masonry 
composing  the  entrance  was  an  arch  constructed  of 
alternate  layers  of  white  and  yellow  stones.  One  of  these 
arches  had  been  picked  out  and  restored  to  the  appearance 
of  new  stonework  ;  the  other  one  was  mellow  with  age 
and  opened  upon  a  small  blind  passage,  which  extended 
beneath  the  square  tower,  marking  the  apex  and  centre 
of  the  castle  front. 

In  the  tower  was  a  chamber,  formerly,  no  doubt,  the 
special  guest  chamber  of  honour,  and  used  even  now  as 
a  visitors’  room.  It  was  approached  from  within  the 
arch  by  a  flight  of  broken  steps.  The  door  was  massive, 
ancient  and  carved.  On  the  wooden  shutters  of  the 
deeply  recessed  window  was  also  carving  of  a  rough 
arabesque  design.  There  were  small  arched  apertures  at 
intervals  in  the  walls  for  the  ensconcement  of  hand 


206  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

lamps,  and  one  deep  recess  extended  half-way  to  the 
ceiling  like  a  broad  deep  shelf,  upon  which  in  former 
times  the  bedding  would  have  been  piled  during  the  day. 

The  ceiling  was  wooden,  and  for  beams  had  solid 
trunks  of  trees  at  intervals  of  a  foot.  Curious  rustlings 
had  often  been  heard  at  night  in  the  unexplored  heights 
of  the  roof  above  the  tree-stems,  accompanied  by  the 
“  sizzing  ”  sounds  that  one  connects  with  snakes.  The 
walls  all  through  the  castle  were  of  immense  thickness, 
the  doors  solid,  and  wherever  there  was  original  wood¬ 
work  appeared  also  the  rude  arabesque  scrolls  of  carving. 

Curiously  enough,  there  was  also  a  small  ruined 
Maronite  chapel  within  the  castle  enclosure,  which 
almost  suggested  that  at  one  time  the  Christians  had 
been  in  the  ascendency  at  Ras-el-Metn,  or  that  the 
reigning  Druse  emir  of  the  period  of  its  erection  had 
chosen  for  some  secret,  political  or  religious,  to  feign  the 
religion  antagonistic  to  his  race.  It  was  approached  by 
a  descent  of  steps  from  one  of  the  courts,  and  had  an 
altar  of  stone  at  the  other  end  of  the  interior  raised 
above  the  floor. 

The  Christian  quarter  of  the  village  was  at  the  head 
of  the  ridge,  divided  from  the  Druses  by  the  castle. 
The  houses  of  the  Druse  quarter  were  of  solid  build  ; 
massive  stone  edifices,  with  substantial  foundations,  no 
windows  at  all  on  the  ground  floor,  but  on  the  second 
story  were  stone  terraces,  colonnades,  and  the  customary 
arches  of  the  Lebanon  native  house.  No  more  strongly 
built  houses  had  we  seen  anywhere  in  that  part  of  Syria, 
and  the  martial,  fierce-browed  aspect  of  those  vigorous 


The  Roots  of  Lebanon  207 

Druse  mountaineers  of  El-Metn  was  in  character  with 
their  habitations. 

Our  friends  took  us  during  the  afternoon  to  pay  a 
call  of  ceremony  on  the  chief  Druse  of  the  quarter,  a 
young  sheikh  who,  though  he  would  have  felt  slighted 
at  the  omission  of  this  call  from  strange  visitors  to  the 
village,  bore  himself  with  a  hauteur  and  reticence  of  mien 
that  signified  the  great  condescension  of  his  kindly 
welcome.  On  the  other  hand  the  head  man  of  the 
Christian  community,  a  member  of  the  Greek  Church, 
was  urbanity  personified,  even  to  the  extent  of  sending 
later  to  the  Druse  castle  a  beautiful  Arab  mare  for  the 
use  of  one  of  the  ladies  over  the  rough  track  back  to 
the  carriage. 

And  truly  it  was  an  awful  track,  the  donkey  on 
which  I  was  mounted  being  compelled  in  several  places  to 
spring  from  rock  to  rock.  It  was  a  miracle  its  rider 
did  not  come  to  sad  downfall,  for  she  had  no  bridle,  but 
fortunately  an  excellent  saddle  that  had  been  kindly  lent 
for  her  use  by  the  hospitable  hostess  of  the  Druse  castle. 
It  was  dusk  when  we  reached  the  high-road  where  the 
carriage  was  waiting  according  to  the  time  arranged,  and 
as  there  is  little  or  no  twilight  in  those  climes  it  was 
pitch  dark,  except  for  the  starlight,  before  we  had  been 
half  an  hour  on  the  road.  It  was  very  uncanny  in  the 
deep  valleys,  and  climbing  the  sharp  bends  of  the  road 
with  the  mountain  heights  on  one  side,  and  dense,  im¬ 
penetrable  depths  to  gaze  into  on  the  other  side,  the 
carriage  light  piercing  the  blackness  ahead,  but  increasing 
the  deep  umbrage  everywhere  else. 


208  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

The  first  rains  were  now  expected,  and  their  close 
approach  was  heralded  by  a  sirocco  of  more  than  ordinary 
violence  that  visited  the  whole  Syrian  coast  generally. 
At  Beyrout  there  was  a  sandstorm.  From  the  mountain 
heights  we  could  see  the  uprising  of  the  sand  from  the 
dunes  that  skirt  the  city  for  several  miles,  see  it  whirling 
in  gigantic  spiral  columns  and  clouds,  which  were  blown 
in  tempestuous  scurry  out  to  sea.  Next  day  came  the 
welcome  rain,  and  the  whole  of  the  following  night  was 
a  continuous  storm  of  pelting  rain,  tropical  rain,  and 
thunder,  lightning,  and  hail,  a  variety  of  all  sorts  of 
barometrical  surprises  during  the  watch  that  one  was 
compelled  to  keep  owing  to  the  appalling  noise  battering 
overhead,  against  the  walls,  on  the  terraces,  and  over  the 
land  generally. 

Then  came  a  showery  day,  upon  which  occurred  a 
curious  phenomenon  of  nature  that  is  sometimes  seen  in 
the  Levant. 

The  plain  and  city  of  Beyrout  lay  in  deep  shadow. 
Beyond  the  darkened  shore  stretched  a  red-purple  wide 
expanse  of  sea,  bounded  on  its  outer  edge  by  a  wall  of 
cloud  that  dipped  to  the  water  and  reached  and  melted 
upward  into  an  upper  stratum  of  cloud-shapes,  extending 
high  up  the  vault  of  the  sky. 

It  was  a  rain-wall,  giving  the  effect  of  sea  and  sky, 
drinking  of  each  other’s  bounty. 

The  statuesque  cloud-shapes  on  high  stood  out  from 
a  vaporous  background  suffused  with  a  deep  purple-red 
hue  that  penetrated  the  grey  veil.  Along  the  horizon, 
softly  remote,  the  clouds  dwindled,  leaving  an  area  of 


The  Roots  of  Lebanon  209 

clear  sky,  only  to  rise  again  like  an  ascending  mountain- 
range  to  majestic  height,  with  its  ridge  and  peaks  facing 
the  west,  coloured  with  salmon  and  deep  rose  shades. 

Straight  to  the  horizon  at  the  end  of  the  rain-wall 
extended  a  sea  of  steely  grey.  With  steady  motion  the 
barrier  of  cloud  moved  landward  over  the  deep  crimson 
sea  in  front  of  it,  drawing  fresh  water  in  its  advance. 
Against  the  hill  which  crossed  the  western  foreground, 
viewed  from  the  terrace  of  the  hotel,  the  gold  of  the 
sky  was  intensely  brilliant,  while  above  there  floated  a 
cloudlet  of  gossamer  lightness,  gleaming  and  golden. 

The  rain-wall  touched  the  shore.  The  next  moment 
town,  plain,  and  the  distant  hills  were  completely 
shrouded  in  a  slanting,  driving,  streaming  rainstorm. 
Then  followed  superb  weather,  fresh,  sweet,  and  mild  as 
an  English  May  or  early  June. 


VOL.  I 


27 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LORD  OF  THE  DANCING  FESTIVALS 

ONE  of  the  finest  points  of  view  in  the  neigh¬ 
bourhood  of  Brummana  was  from  a  Maronite 
monastery  occupying  a  site  of  antiquity  on  a  spur  of 
the  hill,  which  bends  round  sharply  into  a  highland  pro¬ 
montory  at  a  slightly  lower  altitude  than  Bet  Meri. 
The  site  is  a  prominent  one,  even  when  regarded  from 
the  plain,  and  on  account  of  its  commanding  position  was 
chosen,  no  doubt,  for  the  erection  of  the  temple  in  olden 
times. 

The  road  to  it  branched  off  from  the  main  road  at 
the  foot  of  the  straggling  village  of  Bet  Meri.  After 
the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes’  ride  we  saw  immediately  to 
our  left  one  of  the  plain,  square  buildings  with  a 
simple,  modest  belfry  on  the  fiat  roof  that  in  the 
Lebanon  districts  are  at  once  recognised  as  Maronite 
churches. 

This  church  happened  to  be  one  around  which  many 
fables  had  been  woven.  Day  and  night  the  portal  is 
left  open,  so  that  whosoever  has  inclination  to  enter  as 
he  passes  may  not  lack  opportunity  to  fulfil  his  de¬ 
votional  exercises.  Should  a  thief  go  by  and  be  induced 
by  the  temptation  put  in  his  way  to  stray  within  on 


210 


Lord  of  the  Dancing  Festivals  2 1 1 

plunder  intent,  the  hand  which  he  uplifts  to  snatch  away 
the  gold  or  the  silver  ornaments  in  the  shrine,  or  to 
take  money  out  of  the  box  placed  for  voluntary  contri¬ 
butions,  becomes  instantly  withered  or  paralysed.  Such 
cases  have  been  known,  say  the  people,  as  they  make 
with  emphatic  gesture  the  sign  which  shields  their  own 
person  from  the  shadow  of  the  same  crime.  Deadly 
peril  lays  in  wait  for  the  daring,  or  too  inquisitive  dog, 
or  any  other  beast  that,  taking  advantage  of  the  open 
door,  strolls  in  and  pollutes  the  sanctuary  with  its  bare 
presence. 

To  the  side  of  the  little  church,  with  a  cleared  space 
all  around  it,  there  grew  a  big,  sturdy  oak,  of  the  small¬ 
leaved  species  ( Valonia ,  if  I  am  not  mistaken).  The 
trunk  was  massive  and  solid,  the  strong  roots  grasped 
the  earth  like  grappling-irons,  but  one  of  them  had 
leaped  far  out  beyond  its  fellows  and  burrowed  into  the 
soil,  forming  itself  into  a  low,  rugged  arch  exactly  high 
and  broad  enough  to  admit  man  or  animal  passing 
beneath  in  a  crawling  posture.  The  earth  near  and 
beneath  was  cut  up,  scattered,  and  trampled  upon  as  if 
this  feat  of  grovelling  had  been  recently  performed. 

It  was  a  freak  of  nature  at  which  we  gazed,  a  freak 
that  by  a  further  freak  of  that  part  of  nature — called 
human  nature — had  been  endowed  by  the  superstitious 
with  a  certain  miraculous  power.  Rheumatic  pains  of 
any  and  every  description  dropped  by  magic  out  of  the 
aching  limbs  of  the  Christian,  Druse,  Moslem,  or  any 
other  willing  believer  who  voluntarily,  and  with  the 
necessary  faith,  crept  in  all  humility  underneath  that 


212 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

arched  root  of  the  oak-tree.  Ocular  demonstration  of 
the  working  of  the  miracle  was,  of  course,  all  that  was 
lacking  to  my  prompt  acceptance  of  a  Syrian  mode  of 
healing  that  seemed  to  bear  a  certain  kinship  to  the 
therapeutics  of  Christian  Scientists  of  to-day. 

The  road  came  abruptly  to  a  close  just  beyond  the 
church,  and  a  pathway,  rugged  and  stony,  after  curving 
along  the  slope,  suddenly  mounted  in  steep  ascent  to¬ 
wards  the  monastery,  Der-el-Kala.  Everywhere  lay  heaps 
of  stones.  The  whole  of  the  hill  was  covered  as  though 
with  the  remains  of  a  devastated  town  of  which  all  the 
houses  had  been  pulled  down,  or  destroyed  by  earth¬ 
quake,  until  not  one  stone  was  left  standing  in  its 
rightful  place  upon  the  other. 

Small  live  oaks  and  a  few  olive-trees  worked  their 
way  through  the  stones  that  lined  the  path  on  both  sides 
and  lay  scattered  over  the  whole  ascent.  At  a  period 
unfixed  by  any  direct  or  certain  date  this  hill  with  its 
prominent  crest  was  spread  over  with  houses,  constituting, 
it  can  well  be  imagined,  a  favourite  suburb  for  the 
wealthy  inhabitants  of  ancient  Beyrout.  Easily  can 
imagination  also  picture  the  hill  as  a  stronghold,  a  place 
of  refuge,  for  family,  wealth,  and  worship,  at  a  time 
when  pirates  from  the  north  were  wont  to  sweep  down 
the  coast  and  burn  and  plunder  towns  and  villages  easy 
of  access  on  the  seaboard. 

Right  on  the  flattened  summit  of  the  hill  stretched 
the  ugly  modern  erection.  It  was  a  new,  straight  build¬ 
ing  with  a  tiled  roof,  having  the  same  aspect  as  an 
outbuilding  belonging  to  an  English  country  house,  and 


Lord  of  the  Dancing  Festivals  213 

behind  it  was  a  second  house  with  a  flat  sun-bleached  roof. 
A  short  spell  of  precipitous  climbing,  and  then  the  path 
led  round  between  low  walls  to  the  other  side  of  these 
buildings,  bringing  into  the  range  of  vision  the  church 
of  the  monastery,  which  was  larger  than  the  one  near 
Bet  Meri,  but  of  the  same  order  of  construction. 

To  our  left  a  door  stood  open  conducting  into  the 
humble,  whitewashed  cloisters  of  the  monastery,  lined 
with  low  doors  over  which  were  painted  in  colours 
the  Arabic  numerals  of  the  cells.  A  young  monk, 
unshaven,  and  bearing  the  aspect  of  one  taken  by  surprise, 
appeared  before  us  in  a  black  cassock  girdled  with  a 
broad  leather  belt,  the  symbol  of  purity  of  life  worn 
by  the  members  of  this  monastery.  Everything  that 
came  before  our  sight  as  we  were  conducted  from  one 
spot  to  the  other  was  of  the  simplest,  plainest  order. 

A  rugged  flight  of  stone  stairs  led  down  to  the 
kitchen,  rough  and  austere,  half  open  to  the  air,  where 
a  large  cauldron  of  water  was  being  heated  over  a  fire 
on  the  stone-paved  floor.  Beyond  was  another  door 
opening  into  the  refectory,  where  at  the  moment  of  our 
entrance  the  noonday  mess  of  pottage  was  being  served 
out  by  a  monk  who  sat  in  the  corner  on  the  floor. 
A  huge  black  cauldron,  smoking  hot,  was  in  front  of 
him,  also  a  big  pile  of  soup-plates,  of  which  several 
were  already  filled  and  ranged  on  the  floor  by  his  side. 
Two  bare  tables  flanked  by  wooden  benches  constituted 
the  sole  furniture  between  those  whitewashed  walls. 
Though  these  primitive  ways  were,  doubtless,  based  in 
great  measure  on  the  manners  of  the  country,  there 


214  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

always  seemed  a  singular  appropriateness  to  the  true 
spirit  of  their  environment  in  the  simplicity  and  often 
asceticism  of  daily  habit  constantly  encountered  in  these 
Syrian  monasteries,  rough  and  uncultured  though  many 
of  the  inmates  may  be. 

A  few  relics  of  the  ancient  ruins  lay  scattered  in 
the  flagged  yard  beyond  the  kitchen,  here  a  prostrate 
column,  there  a  broken  pediment.  We  retraced  our 
way  up  the  steps  and  through  the  cloisters,  turning 
at  the  end  of  them  into  a  second  colonnade  which  ran 
the  length  of  the  new  part  of  the  monastery  with  a 
fresh  row  of  cells  to  the  left.  The  open  side  overlooked 
a  court,  unkempt  and  overgrown,  with  a  circular  well 
and  windlass  in  the  centre.  Upon  inquiry  we  were 
told  that  there  was  an  ancient  well  within  the  precincts 
still  undiscovered,  in  spite  of  diligent  search  and 
excavations. 

The  interior  of  the  church  was  plain  and  clean  ; 
the  decorations  were  insignificant  and  tawdry.  On  both 
sides  were  several  small  altars  or  shrines  adorned  with 
tinsel  lace  and  candles,  but  the  chief  display  of  ornament 
and  candles  was  reserved  for  the  high  altar.  An 
abundance  of  small  pictures  in  ordinary  black  frames 
were  suspended  on  the  walls. 

Overhead,  slung  across  from  one  side  of  the  church 
to  the  other,  were  criss-cross  lines  of  thin  rope.  From 
these,  muslin  bags  hung  down,  filled  with  the  eggs 
and  chrysalides  of  the  silkworm,  held  in  safe  keeping 
for  the  following  mulberry-tree  season.  Whether  the 
custom  of  turning  the  church  into  a  winter  depository 


Lord  of  the  Dancing  Festivals  215 

for  the  silkworm  eggs  comes  from  the  idea  that  no 
securer  and  drier  store-place  could  be  found  anywhere 
for  the  safe-guarding  of  these  important  sureties  of 
every  successive  year’s  livelihood,  or  whether  a  special 
blessing  is  supposed  to  be  invoked  by  the  sacred  nature 
of  their  environment,  is  not  evident,  but  in  other 
places  of  the  Lebanon  the  same  practice  can  often  be 
observed. 

Into  the  walls  of  the  church,  strangely  enough, 
also  into  the  adjoining  house,  were  built  stones  which 
bore  ancient  inscriptions.  A  workman’s  name  with  the 
number  of  a  Roman  legion  was  rudely  carved  upon  one 
of  these.  The  lowest  sections  of  two  massive  pillars 
faced  the  exterior  of  the  church  ;  the  base  of  a  third 
was  still  in  evidence,  and  another  was  partly  visible 
built  into  the  wall  of  the  monastery.  In  the  stony 
debris  covering  the  bank  below  the  terrace  a  fallen 
column  lay  half  concealed. 

Beyond  the  church  were  the  well-preserved  walls 
of  the  ancient  temple  rising  to  the  height  of  an  ordinary 
parapet  only,  regarded  from  the  exterior.  The  enclosed 
area  between  the  walls  was  considerably  lower,  and  in 
present  cultivation  as  garden  and  orchard  for  the 
monastery.  According  to  the  lay  of  the  walls  the  temple 
had  faced  the  plain  of  Beyrout  at  a  point  where  the 
remnants  of  its  columns  still  defied  the  despoilment  of 
time  and  human  vandalism.  The  edifice  had  been  a 
hundred  and  six  feet  long  and  fifty-four  wide.  The 
portico  had  once  possessed  a  double  range  of  pillars  six 
feet  in  diameter. 


216  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Local  tradition  maintains  that  Der-el-Kala,  like  the 
great  temple  of  Baalbek,  is  an  ancient  Phoenician  temple, 
and  that  this  statement  is  verified  by  the  antiquity  of 
the  great  drafted  stones,  some  of  them  fourteen  feet 
long.  But  as  it  appears  from  various  sources  that 
Beyrout  was  of  no  importance  in  the  Phoenician  period, 
that  what  there  was  of  it  was  destroyed  under  the 
rule  of  one  of  the  Greek  Seleucidae,  and  that  the 
Romans  after  conquering  Syria  rebuilt  the  town,  colonised 
it,  and  beautified  it,  as  was  their  wont,  with  many  fine 
buildings,  it  seems  more  credible  that  the  Romans  were 
also  the  founders  and  builders  of  the  ancient  temple 
of  Der-el-Kala.  One  of  the  Herods  (Agrippa  I.)  spent 
a  great  deal  of  his  time  in  the  town  of  Beyrout,  or 
Berytus  as  it  was  then  called,  and  it  is  within  close 
range  of  probability  that  he  often  visited  the  beautifully 
situated  city  on  the  height  of  Der-el-Kala,  an  altitude 
escaping  much  of  the  moist  heat  of  the  plain,  and 
rendered  further  attractive  by  the  temple  dedicated, 
according  to  an  inscription  found  in  the  ruins,  to  the 
“  lord  of  dancing  festivals,”  Jovi  Bal  Marcodi. 

Now  this  same  lord  of  the  dancing  festivals,  or  lord 
of  sports,  is  said  by  more  than  one  authority  on  Syro- 
Phcenician  and  Roman  gods  to  have  been  identical  with 
Baal-Berith,  the  god  worshipped  by  the  Phoenicians 
not'  only  at  Baalbek  but  in  Beyrout,  Byblus,  and  by  the 
Israelites  of  old.  Many  of  the  mysteries  connected 
with  the  worship  of  Baal  have  remained  hidden  beneath 
an  impenetrable  veil,  but  visible  witness  long  remained 
of  the  festivals,  dancing  and  otherwise,  held  in  honour 


Lord  of  the  Dancing  Festivals  217 

of  other  gods  at  those  same  sanctuaries  that  were  dedi¬ 
cated  to  Baal.  The  Syrian  Astarte — the  Ashtaroth  of 
the  Hebrews — was  worshipped  in  Beyrout  and  Byblus, 
the  two  important  centres  of  that  part  of  the  Lebanon  ; 
she  was  represented  as  a  woman  standing  on  a  crescent 
moon,  and  to  the  Romans  she  personated  the  goddess 
Juno. 

It  was  to  Adonis,  however,  that  the  highest  honours 
of  religious  festival  were  accorded  from  Byblus  down 
to  Beyrout  and  all  the  hill  districts  above  the  sea- 
borders  in  between.  “  Holy  Adonis,  holy  Byblus  ”  has 
been  found  inscribed  on  ancient  coins,  testifying  to  the 
sanctity  and  high  importance  attached  to  the  worship  of 
Tammuz.  At  Der-el-Kala,  no  less  than  at  Baalbek  and 
other  Syrian  centres  of  pagan  worship,  did  the  “  lord 
of  the  dancing  festivals  ”  preside,  from  the  people’s 
point  of  view,  over  the  feasts  of  Tammuz  held  twice 
every  year. 

A  little  distance  south  of  Byblus  (the  modern  Jebal), 
the  River  Ibrahim,  sacred  to  Adonis,  which  is  its  ancient 
name,  runs  into  the  sea.  The  quantities  of  red  iron-ore 
washed  into  the  river  from  its  source  by  winter  storm 
and  flood  dye  the  waters  a  deep  reddish  hue.  To  the 
ancient  worshippers  of  Adonis  the  red  colour  signified 
the  blood  of  the  god  which  mingled  with  the  waters 
when  he  met  with  his  tragic  death  in  the  fall  of  the 
year.  In  sympathy  with  the  sorrow  of  Venus  over 
the  death  of  Adonis  all  the  women  of  the  Lebanon, 
of  Beyrout  and  Byblus,  used  to  go  in  procession  to 
their  temples,  or  to  the  river-banks  and  the  sea-coast, 
VOL.  I  28 


218  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

to  lament  as  at  funeral  obsequies  over  the  mournful 
fate  of  Tammuz. 

At  the  fete  held  in  the  springtime  they  celebrated 
with  songs  and  joy-cries  the  return  of  Tammuz  from 
the  grave.  Adonis,  their  love,  had  risen  from  death, 
was  the  burden  of  their  cries  ;  he  had  risen  in  the  spring 
with  the  birth  of  the  flowers,  the  budding  of  the  trees, 
in  all  the  power  and  strength  of  his  beauty.  To  this 
day,  in  places  where  these  religious  ceremonies  were 
firmly  grafted  in  the  life  of  the  people,  women  gather 
together  on  the  second  day  of  Pentecost,  preferably  by 
the  sea  or  on  a  river  bank,  to  make  festive  holiday.  All 
the  rivers  of  Mount  Lebanon  were  held  sacred  in  those 
ancient  days,  and  temples  were  erected  near  them,  but 
the  River  Adonis  had  the  chief  reputation  for  sanctity. 
At  its  source  in  the  rocky  and  wonderfully  picturesque 
heights  of  Afka,  anciently  Apheca,  was  a  very  famous 
temple  of  Venus  which  met  with  the  same  fate  at  the 
hands  of  Constantine  as  its  sister  shrine  at  Baalbek. 


Tammuz  came  next  behind, 

Whose  annual  wound  in  Lebanon  allured 
The  Syrian  damsels  to  lament  his  fate 
In  amorous  ditties  all  a  summer’s  day ; 
While  smooth  Adonis  from  his  native  rock 
Ran  purple  to  the  sea,  supposed  with  blood 
Of  Tammuz  yearly  wounded. 


Near  Der-el-Kala  there  are  still  traces  of  an  ancient 
aqueduct  with  stone  tubes,  called  by  the  inhabitants 
“  Kana  Zobeida,”  or  the  channel  of  Zobeida,  who  was 
the  wife  of  Haroun  er  Raschid  ;  it  is  supposed  that  water 


Lord  of  the  Dancing  Festivals  219 

was  brought  to  the  temple  and  city  from  a  spring  called 
Ain  Arrar,  about  four  miles  distant  from  Brummana. 

A  walk  to  the  end  of  the  projecting  hill-spur,  and 
along  the  ridge  of  the  opposite  slope,  brought  into 
full  view  the  grandeur  and  importance  of  this  elevated 
site.  From  one  side  the  eye  looked  over  the  great 
plain  of  Beyrout,  the  deep  blue  of  the  Mediterranean, 
and  a  portion  of  the  ancient  Phoenician  plain  with  the 
peaks  and  slopes  of  Northern  Lebanon  climbing  and  ever 
climbing  one  above  the  other  skyward. 

The  grand  wadi  of  Salima  yawned  deep  and  wild  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hill,  with  the  roots  of  the  massive 
mountain-ridge  of  Ras-el-Metn  anchored  boldly  in  the 
abyss,  and  its  deep  purple  slopes  culminating  above  in 
the  castellated  village  bearing  the  same  name.  To  the 
north-east,  far  away  in  the  distance  were  seen  the  pale 
pink  heights  of  Sannin  and  the  snowy  peak  of  Keniseh. 

Beauty  and  strategical  value  those  people  of  old 
knew  well  how  to  combine,  in  such  skilful  manner,  too, 
as  to  bring  their  love  of  aesthetic  pleasure  into  line  with 
practical  necessity  for  self-defence.  And  now  the  splendid 
pagan  sanctuary,  the  Roman-built  villas,  were  a  mass  of 
debris,  among  which  grew  at  random  prickly  gorse,  scrub 
oak,  and  the  pale  cyclamen.  Close  to  the  ruins  still 
flourished  an  oak  of  tremendous  growth,  and  sitting 
beneath  its  shade  were  two  aged  monks  studying  at  their 
ease  the  manner  in  which  their  inquisitive  visitors  made 
close  survey  of  the  monastic  property. 

The  lord  of  the  dancing  festivals  was  laid  low,  the 
moon  of  Astarte  had  risen  and  set,  the  temples  of  Venus 


220 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

were  in  ruins.  On  their  site  was  planted  at  Der-el-Kala, 
as  in  many  parts  of  the  Lebanon,  the  standard  of  the 
Cross,  though  in  many  of  the  so-named  Christian  shrines 
the  images  and  saints  placed  there  would  with  difficulty 
be  distinguished  by  a  resuscitated  Phoenician  from  those 
of  his  own  pagan  deities. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  BROW  OF  CARMEL  AND  ITS  MONASTERY 

Nearly  forty  years  ago  a  German  colony  es¬ 
tablished  itself  under  the  brow  of  Mount  Carmel 
close  to  the  little  Syrian  town  of  Haifa.  The  “  Templars  ” 
community  to  which  they  belonged  was  the  outcome 
of  a  religious  movement  in  Wiirtemberg  which  evolved 
new  principles  for  the  development  of  an  ideal  social 
life  founded  upon  the  prophecies  of  the  Old  Dispensation. 
Like  many  other  propagators  of  a  new  creed  or  sect, 
the  founders  conceived  the  notion  of  transplanting  their 
new  community  to  the  Holy  Land,  hoping  from  this 
ideal  centre  of  the  highest  religious  life  to  reform  the 
whole  world. 

Whatever  they  may  or  may  not  have  done  for  the 
world  at  large,  it  is  certain  that  they  have  been  the 
making  of  Haifa.  The  first  glimpse  of  the  fresh-looking 
German  suburb  after  rounding  the  promontory  of  Carmel 
gave  an  impression  of  prosperity  and  home.  The  new 
and  somewhat  garish  colouring  was  relieved  by  the 
abundance  of  trees  and  shrubs,  and  above  all  by  the 
rugged  flanks  of  the  massive  hill  background  of  Carmel. 
The  sparkling  suburb  curved  round  the  golden  lip  of 
the  exquisitely  blue  bay  of  Akka,  and  merged  with 


221 


222 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

pleasant  and  not  too  harsh  contrast  into  the  grey-toned 
massed  buildings  of  the  old  town  of  Haifa,  while 
scattered  on  the  rising  ground  behind  were  villas  and 
native  houses,  with  cultivated  and  uncultivated  spaces 
between,  divided  by  stone  barriers  or  cactus  hedges. 

In  fact  Haifa,  instead  of  being,  according  to  travellers 
of  the  past  century,  the  dirtiest,  most  uninteresting  town 
in  Northern  Palestine,  its  streets  almost  impassable  for 
filth  and  refuse,  the  bazaars  poverty-stricken  and  of  no 
account,  the  inhabitants  wild  and  suspicious  to  a  degree, 
has  developed  a  status  that  may  end  in  its  becoming 
the  chief  port  of  the  Levant,  now  that  the  new  railway 
has  been  opened.  Enterprise,  industry,  and  thrift  on 
the  part  of  the  Germans  have  made  it  what  it  is.  A 
not  unnatural  rivalry,  amounting  even  to  jealousy,  has 
roused  the  native,  spurring  him  to  set  his  own  quarter 
in  order,  so  that  a  stroll  through  the  streets  of  the 
old  town  is  no  longer  repulsive  to  the  casual 
pedestrian. 

Haifa  boasts  of  two  piers  ;  one  is  a  jetty  of  stone 
jutting  into  the  sea  at  the  end  of  the  finest  street  in 
the  German  colony  ;  it  was  built  in  honour  of  their 
Emperor’s  visit  to  the  Holy  Land,  but  was  never  used 
officially  after  all,  on  account  of  that  unseasonable  sirocco 
of  twenty-one  days’  length.  The  other  is  in  the  old 
town,  and  is  the  landing-stage  for  passengers  and  cargo 
of  the  Austrian  Lloyd  and  other  steamers  which  call 
regularly  at  the  port.  Immediately  outside  the  custom 
house  there  is  a  block  of  buildings  to  the  left,  con¬ 
taining  post-offices  of  various  nationalities,  also  a  brightly 


Brow  of  Carmel  and  its  Monastery  223 

painted  native  hotel  with  a  series  of  galleries  and  outside 
staircases  decorating  its  exterior. 

It  is  to  the  right,  to  the  German  colony,  that  the  wise 
traveller  turns  his  course,  taking  one  of  the  carriages 
choking  the  cobbled  roadway,  and  driving  westward. 
He  will  go  past  the  old  fort  or  castle  which  has  been 
converted  into  the  barracks  of  the  town,  across  a  small 
square,  by  several  lively  cafes,  up  a  narrow  street  lined 
with  shops,  into  a  fairly  good  road  running  parallel 
with  the  sea  ;  he  will  pass  several  residential  houses 
walled  and  gardened,  and  finally  enter  the  neat, 
fragrant  boulevards  of  the  pretty  German  suburb. 

Sweeping  round  the  corner  of  a  large  square  building 
with  trees  casting  welcome  shadow  around,  the  carriage 
stops  abruptly  before  the  door  of  the  airy,  well-kept 
hotel  of  the  Kraft  family.  If  he  be  fortunate  in 
arriving  at  an  opportune  time,  when  the  house  is  not 
overcrowded,  he  may  be  able  to  obtain  a  room  with 
outlook  over  the  beautiful  bay,  where  he  will  see  Akka 
shining  like  a  multitude  of  marble  blocks  massed 
together  on  the  distant  horn  of  the  amber  crescent  of 
sand. 

It  was  the  early  spring — the  middle  of  February — 
the  beginning  of  that  ideal  season  which  transmutes 
the  rocky  barrenness  of  the  wilderness  into  a  garden, 
and  the  fruitful  land  of  Galilee  into  a  floral  paradise. 
The  rugged  slopes  of  Carmel  drew  us  towards  them  like 
a  loadstone,  up  the  sunny  street,  lined  with  trees  both 
in  green  bud  and  flower.  Behind  flower-rich  gardens 
stood  the  peaceful  German  homesteads.  Other  roads, 


224  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

smiling  and  floral  as  this,  ran  in  parallel  lines  to  the 
base  of  the  hill,  or  intersected  them  at  intervals.  The 
impression  received  transplanted  us  in  imagination  to 
the  garden  towns  of  California,  particularly  as  some 
of  the  houses  were  built  of  wood,  though  red-tiled 
roofs  were  the  rule  and  not  the  exception. 

Out  of  the  colony  we  walked  on  among  the  olive- 
groves  skirting  the  foot  of  Mount  Carmel.  The  ground 
was  uneven  and  rough  ;  corn  seemed  to  be  sown  in 
every  available  spot  between  the  trees,  thrusting  forth 
whole  forests  of  emerald  spears  in  defiance  of  the  stony 
soil.  The  trees  were  for  the  most  part  thickly  leaved, 
and  the  whole  grove  presented  an  ancient  but  picturesque 
appearance.  The  trunks  were  aged,  gnarled,  and  in 
some  cases  of  grotesque  formation,  hollowed,  with  stones 
filling  up  the  cavity  to  hinder  the  complete  decay.  A 
few  fine  old  veterans  near  the  houses  had  even  been 
padded  with  cement  to  prevent  the  utter  collapse  of 
the  trunk  shells. 

The  ruined  posts  of  an  old  gateway,  still  showing 
niches  that  once  held  holy  water  or  images,  lured  us 
between  their  landmarks  of  a  buried  past  to  a  steep 
disused  path,  overgrown  with  grass  and  herbage,  while 
the  underwood  on  either  side  tried  hard  to  bring  their 
sprawling  tendrils  and  boughs  into  irrevocable  entangle¬ 
ment.  The  hillside  was  covered  with  undergrowth, 
small  carob  or  locust  trees,  dwarf  live  oak  and  of 
larger  growth,  while  cistus  bushes  showed  their  first  pale 
roses,  and  a  variety  of  wildflowers  were  in  blossom. 
Scattered  anemones  glowed  scarlet  and  purple  between 


Brow  of  Carmel  and  its  Monastery  225 

the  bushes  ;  little  carpets  of  pink  campion  spread 
themselves  gaily  between  the  rocky  spaces  and  the 
scrub. 

This  disused  track  soon  merged,  near  a  second  stone 
pedestal  with  niche,  into  a  pathway  in  present  use 
ascending  to  the  summit  by  an  easier  gradient.  The 
view  on  looking  back  was  striking,  the  haze  of  the  sirocco 
having  assumed  every  shade  of  pale  pink  and  deep  rose 
round  the  horizon,  while  the  whole  outstretched  bay 
was  of  the  hue  of  pink  lavender.  The  red,  white,  and 
grey  of  the  town  stood  out  strongly  against  the  back¬ 
ground,  and  the  green  of  the  corn-tracks  stretching 
over  the  plain  beneath  as  far  as  the  promontory  was 
most  vivid. 

Above  rose  the  monastery  of  Mar  Elias  and  the 
lighthouse,  which  is  a  beacon  of  note  in  that  part  of  the 
Levant.  We  skirted  the  boundary  wall,  not  without 
some  laborious  climbing,  keeping  the  sea  to  our  right 
as  we  rounded  the  hill  and  sat  down  on  boulders  in 
a  savage,  highland  district  gazing  at  the  sunset  over  the 
Mediterranean.  Between  the  rocks  around  us  a  tall,  strong 
lily,  with  a  full  blossom  of  orange  hue,  shared  the  graces 
of  floral  beauty  with  the  pink-petalled  cyclamens,  both 
flowers  growing  everywhere  in  lavish  display. 

Below  us  was  a  wadi,  one  of  the  many  fissures  of 
Carmel’s  sturdy  flanks,  and  doubtless  one  of  the  gorges 
into  which  the  plague-stricken  and  those  sick  unto  death 
of  Napoleon’s  army  descended  and  lost  themselves, 
upon  hearing  they  were  to  be  deserted  by  their  comrades, 
left  to  be  brutally  murdered  by  their  deadly  enemy 

29 


VOL.  I 


226  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

the  Turk.  Perhaps  it  was  in  that  same  wadi  dipping 
down  from  our  feet,  rocky  and  overgrown  with  thick 
brushwood,  that  they  strayed  aimlessly  among  the 
boulders,  expending  the  fictitious  force  which  had  spurred 
them  thither  from  the  monastery,  and  finding  instead 
of  the  coveted  rescue  a  surer  refuge  in  the  Valley  of 
the  Shadow  of  Death.  Their  bones  now  rest  beneath 
the  shade  of  the  French  flag  in  a  cavern  outside  the 
monastery  gate,  topped  by  a  small  memorial  pyramid. 

With  the  famous  monastery  rising  so  near,  thought 
then  wandered  to  the  generations  of  intrepid  men  who 
had  held  their  own  on  Mount  Carmel  for  so  many 
centuries — held  it  in  defiance  of  persecution,  pillage, 
torture,  death,  held  it  as  cc  holy  ground  ”  throughout  the 
ages,  with  the  tenacity  of  the  valiant  few  who  climbed 
the  steep  ascent  of  the  mountain  of  the  Lord,  mocking 
the  brandished  steel,  drinking  the  cup  of  woe,  caring 
for  nothing,  recking  little  so  long  as  they  could  keep 
in  sight,  even  from  afar,  (the  blood-red  banner  of  their 
faith. 

The  Carmelite  order  of  monks  claim  Elijah  (Elias) 
as  the  founder  of  their  order,  and  give  forth,  in  apparent 
good  faith,  their  conviction  that  the  brotherhood  has 
remained  unbroken  in  a  chain  of  direct  succession  through 
the  whole  of  the  centuries  since.  No  less  than  seven 
popes  have  given  their  seal  to  this  statement  in  writing. 

Certain  it  is  that  the  natural  grottoes  on  the  west 
slope  of  the  shelving  promontory  overlooking  the  bound¬ 
less  horizon  of  sea  and  sky  were  lived  in  by  anchorites 
anterior  to  the  Christian  era,  and  from  times  immemorial 


Brow  of  Carmel  and  its  Monastery  227 

the  aborigines  have  revered  the  cavern  in  which  Elijah 
is  believed  once  to  have  dwelt.  A  large  cavern  is  shown 
to-day  by  the  Moslems,  close  to  one  of  their  cemeteries 
on  the  slope  of  the  hill.  It  is  the  famous  cave  where 
Elisha  is  said  to  have  instructed  his  successors,  the  £C  Sons 
of  the  Prophets,”  and  called  now  the  “School  of  the 
Prophets.”  The  interior  within  the  rock  is  about  forty- 
five  feet  by  twenty-three,  and  the  height  quite  eighteen 
feet.  Legend  also  asserts  that  the  Holy  Family 
rested  in  this  grotto  on  their  return  from  Egypt  to 
Nazareth. 

Pythagoras,  five  hundred  years  before  Christ,  when 
engaged  in  studying  the  mystic  lore  of  the  East,  is 
stated  to  have  dwelt  for  a  time  among  the  early  hermits 
of  Carmel.  As  the  religious  element  was  the  strongest 
factor  of  his  system,  and  prophecy  and  divination  the 
special  gifts  to  which  he  laid  claim,  it  is  not  improbable 
that  the  ancient  philosopher  evolved  on  Carmel — the 
mountain  of  oracle,  of  sanctuary,  of  prophecy — some  of 
the  secret  religious  doctrines  that  contributed  to  the 
ascetic,  disciplined,  and  elevated  tone  of  the  brotherhood 
founded  under  his  system. 

Hermits  of  the  Christian  age  continued  to  haunt  the 
grottos  of  the  c<  Mount  of  God  ”  until,  in  the  twelfth 
century,  the  period  when  Akka  was  the  chief  landing- 
place  of  the  Crusaders,  they  began  to  be  regarded  as  a 
distinct  order  of  monks,  taking  their  name  from  the 
locality  to  which  they  had  attached  themselves.  Directly 
they  established  a  reputation  that  was  peculiarly  Frank 
and  Christian,  they  began  to  be  persecuted  in  real  earnest 


228  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

by  the  Moslems.  At  one  time  they  were  so  weakened 
and  down-trodden,  almost  to  extermination,  that  their 
church  was  converted  temporarily  into  a  mosque.  The 
monastery  was  frequently  plundered,  and  in  consequence 
of  their  association  with  the  French  flag  during  the  in¬ 
vasion  of  Syria  by  Napoleon,  they  were  considered  un¬ 
trustworthy  at  the  time  of  the  revolt  in  Greece.  The 
ruling  pasha  of  Akka  caused  the  buildings  to  be  destroyed 
in  case  they  might  again  harbour  the  enemies  of  the 
Sublime  Porte. 

The  modern  buildings,  with  the  domed  church  in  the 
middle,  form  an  imposing  landmark  on  the  shelving 
promontory,  about  five  hundred  feet  above  the  sea. 
They  were  rebuilt  about  sixty  years  ago,  and  have  been 
greatly  added  to  during  intervening  years.  The  number 
of  monks  from  nine  or  ten  has  only  increased  to  eighteen 
and  sometimes  twenty  during  the  same  duration  of  time. 
The  monastery  is  as  much  a  hospice  as  a  house  of  monks 
in  these  days,  and  affords  clean,  airy  apartments  with 
hospitable  diet  for  travellers,  who  made  it  their  chief 
resting-place  before  the  German  hotels  in  Haifa  had  been 
established.  From  the  terrace  the  sea  is  viewed  on  three 
sides,  also  the  hills  of  Galilee,  and  as  far  north  as  the 
snows  of  Hermon  and  Lebanon. 

In  the  church  behind  the  high  altar  is  concealed  the 
famous  cave  of  Elijah,  which  with  mallet  and  chisel  has 
been  bevelled  into  a  small  chamber.  On  a  side  altar  is 
a  rudely  worked  carving  of  the  prophet’s  figure,  over¬ 
hung  with  votive  offerings  of  the  pilgrims.  The  native 
pilgrim  journeys  likewise  to  the  shrine  of  Elias  and  the 


Brow  of  Carmel  and  its  Monastery  229 

cave  of  Elisha,  both  of  the  prophets  being  counted 
among  the  revered  saints  or  welis  of  the  Moslems.  A 
building  for  their  accommodation  stands  apart,  to  the 
north  of  the  monastery. 

The  traditional  visit  of  the  Holy  Family  to  this 
rocky  height  has  made  the  Carmelites  honour  the  Virgin 
Mary  as  the  special  patron  of  their  order,  so  much  so  that 
they  are  also  known  under  the  name  of  Brothers  of  the 
Holy  Maria  of  Carmel.  A  chapel  dedicated  to  the 
Virgin  has  also  been  erected  on  the  mountain. 

A  walk,  not  on  the  same  evening,  taken  around  the 
whole  walled  enclosure  gave  the  impression  of  a  well- 
guarded  fortress.  We  had  ascended  by  a  different  foot- 
track,  mounting  through  the  terraced  vineyards  of  the 
slope  into  the  carriage-road  leading  to  the  monastery. 
Down  to  meet  us  from  that  hill  of  Mary  came  a  black- 
robed  nun  riding  slowly  on  a  donkey.  Her  face  was 
thin  and  pale,  but  bore  a  sweet,  introspective  expression. 
With  absorbed  manner  she  half  responded  to  our  salutation, 
and  then  with  veiled  eyes  fixed  ever  in  the  distance 
rode  silently  on — silently  as  was  her  wont,  and  that 
of  her  companions  dwelling  in  the  strong,  iron-gated 
convent  of  the  Carmelite  Sisters  standing  close  to  the 
seashore  near  the  head  of  the  bay.  With  sealed  lips 
these  silent  sisters  dwell  behind  the  blank  high  walls 
of  their  prison-like  home,  for  all  but  one  day  in  every 
year.  Then  are  they  allowed  to  speak  to  one  another 
or  to  any  one  who  may  accost  them,  but  so  strong  is 
the  habit  of  silence  thus  rigidly  imposed  that  silence 
even  on  that  one  holiday  seems  the  fitting  attitude  of 


230  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

mind  for  the  pale,  lifeless,  and  sad  faces.  This  one 
day  of  all  the  year  is  spent  upon  Mount  Carmel.  I 
was  told  by  a  lady  who  had  been  at  the  monastery  on 
one  of  these  annual  outings  that  she  conversed  with 
several  of  these  pathetic-looking  nuns,  and  ventured  to 
put  the  question  as  to  whether  they  had  real  faith 
in  the  righteousness  and  use  of  such  a  life. 

They  replied  in  the  affirmative.  There  was  too  little 
prayer  in  the  world,  they  said,  and  lives  devoted  to 
praying  for  the  good  of  others,  and  for  those  who  did 
not  pray  for  themselves,  could  not  but  be  blessed  and 
bestow  blessings  undreamt  of,  unknown,  but  real.  The 
explanation  was  not  convincing  because  of  the  resigned 
sadness  of  their  tragic  faces. 

From  the  monastery  we  returned,  and  followed  the 
road  which  curved  round  at  the  summit  and  then  ran 
straight  on  towards  a  small  German  settlement  and  an 
excellent  summer  hotel  standing  in  full  view  on  the 
ridge  across  a  deep  valley  to  our  right. 

The  land  around  was  in  process  of  cultivation,  still 
very  much  in  the  rough,  as  though  reclaimed  with 
labour  from  the  earlier  neglected  condition.  Men  were 
working  in  the  vineyards,  and  busy  elsewhere  with  the 
plough.  The  road  had  a  wild  border  of  coarse  grass, 
flowering  herbage,  scrubwood,  and  stretches  of  wall 
built  in  the  ordinary  way  of  piled  stones  and  boulders. 
Round  the  head  of  the  wadi  we  turned  and  saw  at 
once  the  striking  position  of  the  hotel. 

Carmel  stretched  ahead  in  rolling  hills  with  shadowed 
dales  and  deep  ravines  between,  suggesting  the  fertility 


Brow  of  Carmel  and  its  Monastery  231 

and  seclusion  of  the  “  forest  of  the  fruitful  field.”  It 
was  an  impression  that  was  not  put  to  the  test  on 
the  spot,  but  on  a  later  expedition  made  over  the  whole 
length  of  that  broad,  luxuriant  backbone  of  the  mountain- 
range. 

Reluctantly  we  then  retraced  our  steps  and  dipped 
over  the  ridge  into  a  steep  footpath  winding  along  the 
slope.  On  the  summit  had  come  the  first  wonderful 
glimpse  of  the  vast  plain  of  Esdraelon — the  Great 
Meadow  of  the  Arabs — with  the  distant  rounded  head 
of  Tabor  turbaned  in  the  radiant  light  of  swift-approaching 
sunset,  the  light  which  seems  to  have  given  to  it  the 
local  name  of  Hill  of  Light. 

Now  we  looked  over  the  plain  of  the  Kishon,  and 
the  marshland  bordering  the  bay  of  Akka.  We  saw  the 
winding  river  of  the  Kishon,  spanned  near  the  sea  with 
its  pontoon  bridge,  and  the  forest  of  palms  planted 
throughout  the  picturesque  delta  beyond  Haifa,  bordering 
the  golden  strand.  While  we  stood  silently  drinking  it 
all  in,  hardly  able  to  realise  that  these  names  of  the 
mind  had  taken  unto  themselves  the  substance  of  reality, 
down  crept  the  dark  shadow  of  the  mountain-side  over 
the  whole  of  the  lowland. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  immediately  over  the  panorama 
stole  a  weird  yet  most  beautiful  effect.  The  gold  of 
the  sands  edging  the  bay  faded  to  a  pale  seaweed- 
green,  while  the  plantation  of  palms  and  the  orchards 
marking  the  approach  to  Haifa  deepened  in  colour  to 
the  richness  of  myrtle.  Set  in  this  wealth  of  green, 
the  winding  waters  of  the  brook  Kishon  and  the  lagoons 


232  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

of  its  remarkable  delta  suddenly  turned  lurid — deep 
red  as  the  blood  of  grapes,  deep  red  as  it  may  have 
looked  on  that  remote  and  terrible  day  when  the 
blood  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  Sun-God’s 
prophets  flowed,  mingling  with  its  waters  to  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


OLD  AND  MODERN  HAIFA 

THAT  the  site  of  the  ancient  Sycaminum  is  supposed 
to  be  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Haifa,  between 
the  present  town  and  the  point  of  the  promontory  called 
Ras-el-Krum,  is  a  matter  of  deep  interest  to  some  minds, 
though  other  travellers  deplore  the  lack  of  antiquities  for 
visual  observation,  and  pass  on  to  other  sites  richer  in 
relics  of  a  past  grandeur.  Those  who  love  to  linger  in 
places  where  imagination  is  helped  by  nature,  and  can 
find  in  rock,  an  aged  tree,  an  ancient  well  or  tomb,  the 
touchstone  that  magically  revives  a  visionary  glimpse  of 
the  past,  may  find  interest  in  strolling  over  the  narrow 
strip  of  land  that  stretches  between  the  Templars’  colony 
and  the  foot  of  Carmel. 

We  began  our  walk  of  discovery  on  the  seashore, 
turning  westward  from  the  jetty  at  the  end  of  the  road. 
The  bay  was  so  placidly  blue  that  it  was  quite  impossible 
to  imagine  a  time  when  the  west  wind  gales  make  the 
roadstead  so  insecure  as  to  drive  all  ships  unsupplied  with 
strong  anchor  and  cable  straight  on  the  rocks  or  strand. 
The  slip  of  sandy  beach  between  the  dunes  and  the 
water  margin  was  firm  for  walking,  and  the  dark  tidal- 
mark  strewn  with  a  variety  of  shells,  like  and  unlike 
those  on  an  English  beach,  while  everywhere  were 

233  30 


VOL.  I 


234 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

multitudes  of  small  cowries.  The  rocks  were  of  wave- 
worn  flatness  and  irregularity  of  green  and  grey  colouring, 
showing  like  miniature  islands  and  breakwaters.  They 
gave  one  the  impression  that  they  were  remnants  of  the 
ancient  city  engulfed,  and  yet  ceaselessly  striving  to  give 
evidence  of  the  secrets  their  hidden  foundations  could 
reveal. 

Built  into  the  sand-banks  were  one  or  two  native 
houses  at  intervals,  new  and  yet  bearing  the  mark  of 
penury  and  the  struggling  lives  of  their  inmates.  Clumps 
of  strong-limbed  cactus  bordered  the  garden  plots 
scattered  between  the  dunes,  or  stretched  spiny  fingers 
down  to  the  sloping  strand.  There  rose  a  graceful  palm- 
tree  on  the  edge  of  the  bank  which,  close  by,  had  been 
undermined  and  washed  away  by  the  vehemence  of  a  high 
or  stormy  tide,  dragging  with  it  a  neighbouring  palm- 
tree,  which  now  lay  with  uncovered  roots,  its  beautiful 
plumes,  faded  and  rotting,  crushed  against  the  sand  with 
the  force  of  its  downfall. 

Straight  ahead,  skirting  the  sea  border,  was  a  high, 
stoutly  built  wall,  which  shut  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Carmelite  Sisters  from  the  rear.  Before  coming  to  it  we 
turned  aside  through  one  of  the  apertures  in  the  dunes, 
and  wended  our  way  over  heavy  sandy  tracks  between 
gardens,  and  through  old  excavations  which  had  laid  bare 
several  ancient  rock  tombs  and  vaults,  unearthed  some 
Phoenician  glass  of  great  beauty  and  delicacy,  and  made 
various  discoveries  that  were  considered  minor  in  com¬ 
parison  with  the  extensive  ones  successfully  carried  on 
elsewhere. 


Old  and  Modem  Haifa 


235 


Through  an  opening  in  a  cactus  hedge  we  passed 
into  an  orchard  laid  out  like  a  garden  between  the  trees, 
and  there  came  across  a  remarkable  sycamore-tree,  sup¬ 
posed  by  many  to  be  a  relic  of  the  ancient  abundance  of 
sycamores  that  gave  the  name  to  the  city,  which  is 
mentioned  in  the  Talmud  as  also  by  Greek  and  Roman 
authors.  It  was  a  tree  of  huge  growth,  having  many 
thick  branches  of  curiously  gnarled  formation  spreading 
out  on  all  sides.  But  it  was  the  enormous  roots  that 
fixed  chief  attention,  extending  with  great  curves,  and 
digging  deeply  like  massive  anchors  into  the  soil. 

It  has  been  questioned  whether  the  sycamore  and 
sycamine  are  identical,  and  for  those  who  imagine  that 
the  Syrian  sycamore  resembles  the  smooth-trunked, 
slender  sycamore  or  maple  one  sees  in  England,  this 
perplexity  is  not  surprising,  especially  when  it  is  a  matter 
of  proving  the  accuracy  of  scriptural  statement.  It  is 
still  more  difficult  to  imagine,  as  is  stated  by  some 
commentators,  that  by  the  sycamine  is  really  meant  the 
mulberry-tree,  for  the  latter  tree  has  weak,  short  roots, 
which  can  be  uprooted  with  ease,  and  would  on  that 
account  scarcely  have  been  cited  as  a  type  of  the  im¬ 
mobility  of  faith.  It  seems  also  conclusive  that  in  sandy, 
sheltered  ground,  in  the  warm  lowlands  of  Lebanon  and 
the  valley  of  the  Jordan,  the  sycamore  once  flourished 
so  luxuriantly  that  Solomon,  in  causing  the  cedars  to  be 
brought  to  Jerusalem,  is  declared  to  have  made  them 
“  be  as  the  sycamore  trees,  that  are  in  the  lowlands, 
for  abundance.” 

It  was  the  sight  of  that  huge,  hoary  sycamine-tree, 


236  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

growing  in  the  sandy,  sheltered  plain  in  the  lee  of 
Carmel’s  head,  that  brought  into  the  focus  of  reality 
the  idea  of  a  Phoenician  city  named  Sycaminum,  once 
in  tangible,  flourishing  existence  on  that  very  site. 
We  moved  away  and  found  an  outlet  through  the  cactus 
hedge  which  led  us  by  another  footpath  to  the  road, 
which  wound  half-way  around  a  mere,  reflecting  in  its 
placid  waters  the  steep  slope  of  Carmel  and  its  banks, 
fringed  with  feathery  reeds  and  long  grass.  Beyond 
the  high  iron  gates  of  the  convent  and  the  enclosing 
walls,  we  turned  seawards  again  and  came  out  upon 
the  dunes,  covered  with  short  spring  herbage  and  strange 
growth  of  thistle.  Tamarisk-trees  and  shrubs  were 
scattered  about,  and  spring  flowers  flourished  even  in 
this  proximity  to  the  sea,  short  purple  irises,  and  a 
variety  of  succulent  plants. 

Near  the  point  we  left  the  sandy  undulating  sea- 
border  and  made  straight  for  the  carriage  road  which, 
coming  from  Haifa,  skirts  the  base  of  the  promontory 
and  winds  up  the  south-western  slope  to  the  German 
settlement  on  the  ridge  above.  A  broad  extent  of  land, 
half  waste  ground,  half  cultivated,  had  to  be  crossed. 
We  passed  one  or  two  isolated  buildings,  and  had  some 
rough  walking  before  cutting  straight  into  the  road 
below  the  cliff.  Built  some  distance  up  the  steep  ascent 
in  the  side  of  the  hill  were  some  native  buildings  which 
concealed  from  view  the  entrance  to  the  “  school  of  the 
prophets.”  Close  by  was  a  precipitous  foot-track  winding 
up  to  the  lighthouse  near  the  brow  of  the  cliff. 

The  waves  of  the  open  Mediterranean  broke  lightly 


Old  and  Modem  Haifa  237 

over  the  pebbles  of  the  low,  half-sandy,  half-rocky 
strand,  and  just  beyond  a  little  stone  building  on  the 
edge  of  the  beach  a  boat  rocked  idly  on  the  water. 
It  was  filled  with  natives,  who  were  luxuriating,  lazily, 
leisurely,  in  the  kaf,  which  they  know  so  well  how  to 
enjoy.  Their  bright  garb,  white-skirted  pantaloons,  and 
scarlet  caps,  perched  at  every  possible  angle  on  the  dark 
heads,  struck  the  Oriental  note  of  colour  and  gaiety  in 
the  scene.  We  walked  back  to  the  town  through  the 
green  corn-tracks  spreading  out  in  various  stages  of 
growth  on  the  flat  at  the  base  of  the  mountain. 

The  weather  did  not  remain  equable.  A  stifling 
sirocco  set  in  one  day  soon,  without  even  a  zephyr  to 
circulate  the  poisonous  atmosphere.  The  afternoon  of 
the  third  day  a  high  wind  rose,  blowing  up  whirlwinds 
of  dust  and  sand.  A  sudden  smart  shower  poured  down 
at  night,  accompanied  by  one  brilliant  flash  of  lightning. 
The  weather  gradually  cooled,  a  few  rain-showers  came, 
followed  by  another  sirocco  for  more  than  the  orthodox 
three  days.  After  this  came  a  complete  change  in  the 
shape  of  a  good  sou’-wester,  driving  the  sea  inland  in 
tremendous  waves,  and  making  it  impossible  for  passengers 
to  land  except  through  the  boiling  surf  on  the  boatmen’s 
backs.  This  little  note  on  barometrical  changes  is 
merely  interlarded  to  give  an  idea  of  the  spring  climate 
in  Haifa.  We  found  that  it  resembled  our  English  April 
and  May  months,  with  intervals  of  summer  heat  between 
the  rain-showers. 

In  February  the  fruit-trees  were  all  in  blossom. 
This  shows  the  mildness  of  the  locality  and  the  sheltered 


238  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

situation  beneath  the  broad  slope  of  Carmel.  On  the 
heights  themselves,  vegetation  was  less  forward,  and 
the  flowers  delayed  somewhat,  but  on  the  whole  every¬ 
thing  seemed  as  advanced  in  growth  as  in  the  two 
English  months  mentioned  above.  Were  the  distance 
less  between  England  and  Haifa,  it  is  assuredly  one  of 
the  best  adapted  and  healthiest  spots  on  the  Levant 
for  an  invalids’  winter  resort.  When  the  heat  increases 
there  are  always  the  breezy  uplands  of  Carmel,  and  its 
sea-bound  promontory,  with  convent  or  hotel  as  refuge 
from  the  enervating  air  of  the  plain. 

The  eastern  side  of  the  town  has  a  charm  of  its  own. 
In  passing  through  the  streets  it  is  interesting  to  turn 
aside  into  the  sukh  (bazaars),  though  they  are  small 
compared  with  other  towns,  as  much  of  the  trade  has 
been  diverted  to  the  shops  of  the  Germans.  On  the 
strand,  as  one  emerges  from  the  town,  there  are  many 
sailing  and  rowing-boats  with  the  fishermen  and  sailors 
busied  among  them,  or  squatting  in  picturesque  groups 
in  their  shade. 

The  cafes  are  side  by  side  with  their  little  forests 
of  rush-bottomed  stools,  and  natives  smoking  placidly 
or  jabbering  in  excited  argument  as  you  pass.  The 
road  descends  to  the  sands,  leaving  the  slaughter-house 
to  the  right,  and  then  maybe  can  be  seen  a  number  of 
boys  or  young  men  sitting  in  a  large  group  on  the  soft 
sands,  and  playing  a  game  that  seems  the  original  of 
hunt  the  slipper. 

The  colour  of  the  bay  curling  round  to  Akka  is 
blue  as  a  sapphire,  the  strand  is  the  colour  of  maize. 


Old  and  Modem  Haifa 


239 


while  bordering  it  are  undulating  dunes  planted  with 
a  wealth  of  beautiful  palm-trees  that  is  found  nowhere 
else  in  all  Palestine.  This  plantation  is  the  pride  of 
the  town  and  extends  almost  over  the  whole  delta  of 
the  Kishon,  the  sand-locked  branches  of  the  river  forming 
inland  lakes  between  the  graceful  trees  with  clear  blue 
reflections  of  the  sky  overhead. 

Clusters  of  bee-hive  shaped  native  huts  couched  on 
the  other  side  of  the  sand-banks  among  palms  and  fruit- 
trees.  The  plantation  thinned  and  seemed  to  dwindle 
in  stature  as  it  curved  with  the  configuration  of  the 
shore  towards  the  estuary  of  the  river.  The  evening 
we  wandered  thither  was  superb,  and  the  view  of  Haifa 
was  certainly  the  best  we  had  seen.  This  side  of  the 
town  had  been  extended  by  a  Jewish  quarter,  where 
many  new  and  striking  houses  of  Oriental  structure  had 
been  built,  trees  of  graceful  and  exotic  foliage  softened 
the  crudeness  of  colour  and  newness.  Not  only  this 
quarter  but  the  whole  town,  with  its  garden  roofs,  flat 
plain  roofs,  domed  roofs,  minarets  and  towers,  blended 
into  one  harmonious  whole,  was  transfigured  in  the  gold 
and  rose  glamour  of  sunset  against  the  rugged  mountain 
background. 

The  situation  of  the  little  sea-port  commanding  an 
easy  entrance  into  the  plains  and  hills  of  Galilee  was 
such  that,  even  before  the  railroad  was  opened,  travellers 
were  constantly  passing  through.  Day  by  day  repre¬ 
sentatives  of  every  nationality  gathered  into  one  com¬ 
munity  beneath  the  friendly  German  roof ;  American 
and  English,  French,  Italian,  Germans,  Russians, 


240  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Spaniards  from  South  America,  wanderers  from  India, 
South  Africa,  and  Australia.  They  arrived  in  big 
parties  and  small  parties  ;  family  parties,  scientific  and 
archaeological  parties,  or  in  solitary  state  with  an  accom¬ 
panying  cavalcade  of  courier,  dragoman,  native  attendants, 
and  baggage  mules  galore.  It  seemed  as  though  from 
all  the  near  and  distant  corners  of  the  earth  people  of 
all  sorts  and  conditions  were  hastening  with  the  zest 
of  the  crusader,  the  faith  of  the  pilgrim,  the  avidity  of 
the  researcher,  or  the  curiosity  of  the  tourist,  to  sojourn 
for  a  while  in  the  Land  of  Promise,  “  as  in  a  land  not 
their  own,”  dwelling  for  the  greater  part,  like  Abraham, 
in  tents,  and  some  of  them,  without  doubt,  desiring, 
like  him,  to  dip,  by  faith,  into  the  future  for  a  vision 
of  the  city  which  hath  the  foundations  whose  architect 
and  maker  is  the  Eternal. 

Then  there  were  Jews  who  frequently  made  this  a 
halting-place  in  passing  from  one  Jewish  settlement  to 
another  ;  Jews  of  the  industrious,  self-supporting  type  in 
Palestine.  The  flourishing,  beautifully  situated  colony  of 
Zammarin,  founded  by  Baron  Rothschild,  was  within 
five  hours  of  Haifa,  high  on  the  western  slope  of  Carmel, 
looking  down  upon  sea  and  coast,  and  the  ruins  of 
Caesarea  and  Tantoura. 

There  were  Jews  among  them  energetically  concerned 
as  a  Zangwill  in  the  welfare  of  their  race,  and  active  in 
the  establishment  of  new  colonies  ;  Jews  of  education  and 
standing  earnestly  busied  in  the  negotiations  of  land 
purchase,  and  its  profitable  cultivation  by  an  ever-in¬ 
creasing  stream  of  incoming  colonists  ;  Jews  who  were 


Old  and  Modem  Haifa 


241 


good  linguists,  speaking  German,  French,  Arabic,  and 
often  a  smattering  of  English.  And  all  of  them  seemed 
proud  of  their  ancient  race,  and  confident  in  the  hope — 
not  obtrusively — that  the  land  which  had  once  been 
their  own  would  again,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  fall  unto 
the  scattered  tribes  of  the  chosen  people  for  an  inheritance 
according  to  prophecy  (Ezekiel  xlvii.  14).  Then  there  was 
also  the  educated  Syrian,  advanced  by  strides  in  general 
culture  since  the  days  when  Disraeli  summed  him  up  as, 
u  vain,  susceptible,  endowed  with  brilliant  though  frothy 
imagination  ;  a  love  of  action  so  unrestrained  that  rest¬ 
lessness  deprives  it  of  energy  ;  with  so  fine  a  taste  as  to 
be  capricious  ;  so  ingenious  as  to  appear  ever  in¬ 
consistent.” 

The  underlying  sentiment  of  that  summing-up  may 
be  true  in  the  main  to-day,  but  education  has  struck 
strong  roots  into  the  country  since  Disraeli  took  his 
grand  tour  through  Syria.  What  was  then  superficial 
has  to  many  brought  a  training  so  excellent — chiefly 
through  the  medium  of  English-speaking  or  French 
institutions — that  the  number  of  subjects,  political, 
historical,  commercial,  or  literary,  upon  which  a  well- 
educated  Syrian  can  converse  with  knowledge  and  decided 
cosmopolitan  grasp  is  surprising.  As  linguists  too  they 
shine  in  comparison  with  the  average  English  youth  or 
man. 

The  fathers  of  the  present  generation  after  a  slighter 
educational  training  upon  Western  methods  felt  the 
influence  of  ancestral  habit  too  strong  for  them,  and 
easily  slipped  back  into  the  native  condition  of  un- 
vol.  I  31 


2\2  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

trammelled  robes  and  flat,  shuffling  slippers.  Their  sons 
of  to-day  retain  most  of  the  habits  they  have  acquired 
at  the  American  College  or  elsewhere,  added  sometimes 
to  a  few  of  the  failings  and  even  vices  of  the  races  from 
whom  the  training  has  been  received,  but  it  will  take 
more  than  the  years  of  a  couple  of  generations  for  ex¬ 
traneous  influences  to  work  a  permanent  effect  upon  the 
versatile  Syrian  character  and  their  life  generally. 

From  a  later  historical  standpoint  Haifa  is  of  interest, 
too,  owing  to  the  part  it  played  in  the  Syrian  campaign 
of  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  When  the  young  general  led 
his  army  from  the  south  by  way  of  the  Wadi  Milh, 
using  the  old  great  road  winding  round  the  south-east 
of  Carmel,  and  then  emerged  on  the  plain  of  Esdraelon, 
he  sent  Kleber  forward  to  invest  Haifa.  The  garrison 
straightway  surrendered  with  all  its  stores  of  biscuit  and 
rice,  for  the  fame  of  the  siege  and  capture  of  Jaffa  had 
preceded  the  conqueror’s  approach. 

At  once  Haifa  became  a  very  interesting  point.  A 
French  garrison  was  established  there,  the  command 
being  given  to  Colonel  Lambert,  chief  of  the  dromedary 
corps  established  by  Bonaparte.  The  English  sailing 
vessels  of  war  were  already  in  view,  tacking  in  the  bay 
between  Akka  and  Haifa,  the  Tiger  and  the  Theseus , 
with  Sir  Sidney  Smith  in  command.  They  disappeared 
for  several  days,  during  which  time  the  French  camp  was 
formed  for  the  investment  of  Akka  ;  the  troops  expected 
a  resistance  no  greater  than  they  had  fought  against  at 
Jaffa  and  Gaza. 

Four  days  later  the  English  vessels  hove  in  sight 


Old  and  Modern  Haifa 


243 


again,  skimming  like  great  birds  over  the  waters.  They 
approached  Akka  with  caution  as  though  fearing  the 
town  might  already  have  passed  into  the  enemy’s  hands. 
Reassured  by  the  silence  and  probably  by  signals  from 
the  ramparts,  they  anchored  in  the  roads  near  Akka, 
while  the  gunboats  and  Turkish  vessels  returning  with 
them  anchored  across  the  bay  at  certain  distances  to 
Haifa.  Early  the  next  day  the  small  boats  approached 
Haifa,  which  they  cannonaded  vigorously  for  several 
hours. 

Behind  the  walls  of  the  little  fort  of  Haifa  Lambert 
held  grim  silence.  By  no  sign  whatever  did  he  betray 
that  he  was  able  to  respond  in  any  way  to  the  firing. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  he  possessed  wherewith  to  defend 
the  town  was  one  howitzer  and  a  single  three-pounder. 
The  English — for  the  gunboats  were  theirs — assured  of 
victory,  attempted  to  land,  with  the  aim  in  view,  no 
doubt,  of  getting  possession  of  the  valuable  stores 
which  had  been  deserted  by  the  soldiers  of  Djezzar 
Pasha. 

Lambert  let  them  come  on,  waited  until  they  were 
within  gunshot,  and  then  poured  forth  so  effective  a 
charge  that  the  first  sloop  lowered  its  flag  and  sur¬ 
rendered,  while  the  other  promptly  withdrew.  In  this 
way  the  French  became  possessed  of  a  more  powerful 
gun  than  they  had  been  able  to  drag  over  the  heavy 
ground  from  Jaffa,  and  the  whole  crew  of  the  English 
sloop  were  taken  prisoners. 

In  addition  to  this,  writes  an  eye-witness  of  the 
incident,  the  French  were  able  to  celebrate  their  victory 


244  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

in  some  excellent  rum,  of  which  they  found  a  number 
of  bottles  in  the  captured  boat.  It  was  after  this  last 
capture  that  the  report  spread  in  the  French  camp 
how  the  English  instilled  courage  into  the  crews  before 
the  fight  by  always  distributing  a  large  quantity  of 
strong  drink.  Naturally  the  French  patted  themselves 
on  the  back  for  their  own  abstemiousness,  though  in 
their  case  it  was  certainly  Hobson’s  choice,  for  water 
was  often  the  sole  drink  obtainable,  and  even  of 
that  there  was  in  this  campaign  nearly  always  a  serious 
scarcity. 

It  is  generally  stated  that  the  inhabitants  of  Haifa, 
and  of  the  plain  and  foot-hills,  welcomed  the  advent 
of  the  French  as  their  deliverers  from  the  oppressive 
tyranny  of  Achmed  Pasha,  commonly  named  Djezzar, 
or  Butcher  Pasha,  on  account  of  the  fearful  atrocities 
committed  by  him.  They  called  themselves  Christians 
and  the  friends  of  France  and  Sultan  Kebir,  as  Bonaparte 
was  invariably  named  by  the  native.  Only  the  nomadic 
Arab  or  the  Moslem  seemed  antagonistic  to  these 
invaders  of  their  land.  Bonaparte,  in  return  for  the 
confidence  of  the  Christians,  took  them  under  his 
special  protection. 

A  Syrian,  well  acquainted  with  an  old  Arab  sheikh 
who  died  recently  at  the  great  age  of  one  hundred  and 
eight,  told  me  that  the  old  man  had  often  related  many 
an  anecdote  of  the  Napoleonic  campaign.  One  of  them 
was  in  connecton  with  this  very  spirit  of  the  native 
towards  the  invaders. 

In  a  village  near  Esfiyeh — one  of  the  Druse  villages 


Old  and  Modern  Haifa 


245 


on  Carmel  overlooking  the  plain  of  the  Kishon — a 
Moslem  resident  had  the  temerity  to  quarrel  with  and 
strike  a  Christian  who  was  hawking  goods  of  some 
kind  for  sale.  The  Christian,  incensed  at  the  treatment, 
went  off  to  the  French  camp  to  lay  his  complaint  before 
the  general.  The  old  Arab  did  not  give  the  name  of 
the  general,  but  whoever  it  was  sent  a  hundred  soldiers 
to  revenge  the  Christian — so  related  the  old  sheikh  : 
they  mounted  the  hillside,  fell  upon  the  villagers  and 
shot  them  every  one,  women  and  children  too.  To  this 
day  the  mound  bears  the  name  of  “  The  Murder  of  the 
Bedawin.” 

The  story  the  old  sheikh  most  revelled  in  telling 
was  how  he  himself,  quite  a  boy  at  the  time,  had 
killed  a  wild  boar,  carried  it  with  his  friends  in  triumph 
to  the  French  camp  and  presented  it  to  General  Kleber, 
whose  noble  figure,  to  the  Arab  mind,  was  the  incar¬ 
nation  of  all  that  was  martial,  lordly,  and  handsome. 

And  then,  as  now — it  was  somehow  difficult  to 
realise — the  spring  was  throwing  over  the  land  her 
garment  of  rich  and  rare  embroidery.  The  same 
brilliant  carpets  of  the  large  golden  daisies  were  spreading 
out  on  the  banks  and  between  the  cactus  shrubs  bordering 
the  seashore  ;  the  rock  roses  on  the  slopes  were  lavish 
of  bloom  as  the  English  hedgerows  in  June  ;  pink,  blue, 
and  yellow  phlox  were  scattered  down  the  hillside  or 
grew  in  clusters  between  the  stones. 

On  Mount  Carmel  the  valley  of  tulips  was  more 
magnificent  and  marvellous  than  Solomon  in  all  his  glory. 
The  sight,  to  me,  of  this  wealth  of  colour  and  beauty, 


246  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

springing  as  it  were  by  magic  out  of  the  stones,  which 
showed  the  rich  little  patches  of  soil  between,  opened  out 
vistas  of  ever-widening  truth  conveyed  in  the  Oriental 
imagery  of  the  Book  which  is  only  clearly  explained  by 
a  sojourn  in  the  land  of  its  origin. 

For  the  excellency  of  Carmel  was  bursting  forth  even 
in  its  rocky  flanks,  the  stony  places  were  blossoming  like 
the  rose,  the  fig-trees  were  shooting  into  leaf,  over  the 
silvery  foliage  of  the  olive  was  flung  a  delicate  tracery 
of  green. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


FLOWERS  OF  THE  PLAINS  OF  GALILEE 


REACTION  followed  this  jubilant  reign  of  the  south 
wind  over  the  gardens  and  flowers  of  sunny 
Haifa,  on  the  eve  of  our  journey  to  Nazareth  and 
Tiberias.  Rain  fell  in  heavy  showers,  following  a  strong 
March  wind  from  the  west.  In  the  night  this  veered 
to  the  north  and  so  chilled  our  mental  atmosphere,  as 
well  as  the  air  that  attacked  us  outwardly  on  the  long 
drive  in  the  open  carriage,  that  it  was  only  on  the  return 
journey,  a  few  weeks  later,  that  we  truly  imbibed  the 
spirit  and  sentiment  of  the  various  places  of  interest 
through  which  we  passed. 

The  climate  was  that  of  winter  compared  with  the 
mildness  of  protected  Haifa,  the  higher  we  ascended  into 
the  hills.  The  valley  dipping  into  the  plain  of  Esdraelon 
from  the  oak  glades  of  Harithiyeh  was  a  marsh,  through 
which  the  horses  had  pains  to  drag  their  burden. 
Through  one  of  the  valleys  cleft  in  the  side  of  the  hills 
which  guard  the  north  of  the  great  plain  the  road 
climbed  and  wound  in  gradual  ascent,  until  suddenly  at 
one  of  the  curves  where  the  valley  narrowed  into  a  gorge 
we  looked  forward  and  saw  enclosed  between  shielding 
hills,  securely  ensconced  as  in  a  nest,  the  grey  and  white 

247 


248  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

buildings  of  a  little  town.  They  clung  to  the  western 
slope,  were  massed  together  on  the  narrow  lap  of  the 
vale,  and  straggled  a  little  way  up  the  slope  on  the 
opposite  side  among  the  darkened,  dense  foliage  of  a 
wealth  of  olive-trees. 

All  was  in  shade,  a  dim,  shadowy  haze,  as  though 
Nazareth  was  still  veiled  in  the  mystery  of  that  seclusion 
which  has  guarded  from  history,  with  a  silence  almost 
forbidding  intrusion,  the  records  of  those  thirty  blameless 
years  spent  among  the  fifteen  circling  hills. 

With  the  next  bend  in  the  road  the  vision  vanished, 
but  its  spell  was  not  broken,  though  we  stopped  shortly 
outside  the  town  at  a  wayside  inn,  which  had  little  that 
was  Oriental  in  aspect  or  interior,  except  the  large  brass 
dish  of  live  charcoal  embers  with  its  stand,  quickly 
conjured  up  to  thaw  the  chill  that  seemed  to  have 
penetrated  to  the  marrow  of  one’s  bones. 

The  sense  of  that  brooding  mystery  was  not  dispelled 
even  by  the  sparkle  of  daylight  on  the  white  roofs  and 
walls  spreading  out  to  the  left  as  we  skirted  the  town 
beneath  the  olive  orchards  on  the  way  to  the  genial 
temperature  of  Tiberias.  By  Mary’s  Well  on  the 
northern  outskirt,  where  the  road  turned  off  sharply 
to  the  right,  the  picturesque  women  of  En-Nasira 
(Nazareth)  were  drawing  water,  and  carrying  their  great 
pitchers  away  poised  on  the  head  with  the  grace  and 
dignity  of  bearing  natural  to  the  humblest  peasant 
in  that  Syrian  land  of  the  East. 

The  spring  itself,  from  which  the  well  was  supplied, 
once  bubbled  in  an  open  meadow  near  by,  shaded 


The  City  of  Tiberius. 


Flowers  of  the  Plains  of  Galilee  249 

perchance  by  fruitful  trees  and  the  leafy  oak  or  carob 
such  as  are  scattered  among  the  olives  on  the  hillside  ; 
it  had  been  hidden  from  the  blue  of  heaven  under  the 
roof  of  that  little  church  of  the  Orthodox  Greeks,  called 
the  Church  of  Gabriel,  for  more  than  a  century  past. 

Over  bare,  rocky  roads,  with  little  cultivation  between 
the  villages,  we  came  upon  Cana  of  Galilee,  or  Kefr 
Kenna,  set  in  its  orchards  of  olives,  and  pomegranate- 
trees,  which  were  just  bursting  into  bud  on  every  bough 
of  the  rich  red  and  brown  foliage. 

The  houses,  though  low  and  humble,  were  chiefly 
modern,  though  there  were  evidences  of  ancient  ruins 
about.  Undoubtedly  through  the  centuries  interest 
concerning  this  site  must  have  waxed  and  waned  alter¬ 
nately,  according  to  the  ascendency  of  Moslem  or 
Christian  environment,  for  on  the  spot  where  is  now 
erected  a  small  Franciscan  church  were  once  remains 
of  an  ancient  Christian  sanctuary  ;  and  from  itineraries 
we  gather  that  water-jars  of  the  same  kind  as  are  now 
shown  by  the  monks  were  also  shown  to  pilgrims  in 
the  Middle  Ages  as  relics  of  the  original  waterpots  of 
stone  in  use  at  the  wedding-feast  in  Cana  of  Galilee. 

The  low  stone  houses  were  ranged  on  sloping  ground 
that  mounted  from  the  valley  by  which  we  approached. 
The  flourishing  cactus  hedges  and  pleasant  shrubs  gave 
an  air  of  friendliness  to  the  hamlet  that  was  hardly 
warranted  by  the  persistency  of  those  indigent  inhabitants 
who  came  round  with  urgent  demand  for  backsheesh. 

At  the  head  of  the  village  was  the  well,  or  spring, 
with  a  plentiful  flow  of  good  water,  having  for  trough  an 

32 


VOL.  I 


250 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

ancient  sarcophagus  with  garland  ornamentation  carved 
upon  its  stone  surfaces.  The  splashing  of  the  water, 
the  little  runlets  escaping,  the  sturdy  brook  travelling 
as  if  rejoicing  upon  its  way,  had  nurtured  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  well  a  welcome  growth  of  green  and  brilliant 
spring  blossom. 

Upward  and  onward  the  road  climbed  the  valley 
of  the  pomegranates — the  Wadi  Rummaneh — a  side 
offshoot  of  the  great  plain  of  the  Battof.  The  trees 
were  luxuriant,  the  soil  fertile  and  cultivated,  but  the 
road  was  a  mere  torrent-bed  of  boulders  and  stones 
washed  bare  of  earth  by  the  rush  of  winter  rains  sweeping 
down  from  the  plateau  above.  We  alighted  and  trudged 
behind  our  carriage  like  veritable  pilgrims  on  foot. 

We  emerged  at  last  from  the  hills  leading  down 
into  Nazareth  out  upon  the  level  tableland  stretching 
for  miles  ahead  in  wave-like  undulations.  To  the  left 
across  the  plain  the  prosperous  olive  orchards  of  Teran 
showed  their  silvery  foliage  above  the  high  sage-green 
rampart  of  cactus,  with  which  the  zealous  villagers  had 
barricaded  from  marauding  touch  the  fruitful  product 
of  their  industry. 

And  now  as  we  moved  eastward,  the  solitariness 
which  so  frequently  strikes  the  traveller  in  this  country 
became  impressive  and  almost  depressing.  It  seemed 
as  though  we  were  aimless  wanderers  in  a  land  that 
none  passed  through  and  where  no  man  dwelt,  but  yet 
a  land  with  fertile  soil  that  seemed  to  cry  out  for  the 
tillage  of  man,  that  thereby  it  might  yield  of  its  fatness 
for  the  nurture  of  men  who  starved. 


Flowers  of  the  Plains  of  Galilee  251 

Suddenly  from  afar  moved  a  dark  mass  over  the 
plain  at  first  like  a  cloud-shadow,  then  gaining  substance 
as  it  approached  until  it  grew  into  the  semblance  of  a 
multitude  in  movement.  We  were  on  historic  ground, 
near  the  plain  where  the  French  troops  scattered  the 
Turks  more  than  a  century  ago,  near  famous  fighting 
ground  of  the  Saracens  and  Crusaders.  What  was  this 
horde  streaming  over  the  plain,  spreading  out  thinly  on 
its  wings,  dense  and  crowded  in  its  centre  as  a  flock 
driven  hard  by  herdsmen  ? 

In  this  country,  where  the  mirage  presented  its  optical 
illusions  in  strange  and  manifold  forms,  had  it  trapped 
in  the  bygone  years  and  held  permanently  fixed  on  its 
magic  film  a  picture  of  the  old  Crusaders,  rushing  forward 
in  a  blaze  of  faith,  set  on  fire  anew  by  view  of  the 
mystic  sites  on  the  shores  of  the  Galilean  sea  ?  And 
surely  the  phantasy  was  becoming  reality,  for  there 
came  wafted  through  the  clarified  atmosphere  a  sound 
as  of  many  voices  raised  in  song,  and  lo  !  a  rider  in 
fine  array  of  martial  bearing,  on  a  white  horse,  became 
distinguishable,  leading  the  multitude  as  a  captain  his 
troops  or  an  Eastern  shepherd  his  flock. 

But  though  the  approaching  throng  marched  forward 
with  the  cross  for  their  banner  as  did  the  Crusaders 
of  the  first  Holy  Wars,  the  sweet  harmony  of  those 
distant  strains  heralded  no  triumphant  song  of  victory 
but  the  hymns  of  pilgrims,  singing  as  those  who  have 
come  out  of  great  tribulation,  without  yet  giving  thought 
to  the  pains  of  the  latter  stages  of  their  life’s  pilgrimage. 
Instead  of  palms  they  were  bearing  flowers,  nosegays 


252  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

of  flowers,  wreaths  of  flowers  in  their  hands,  and  on 
their  heads,  and  flung  over  their  shoulders  like  garlands 
of  festal  meaning. 

It  was  a  caravan  of  Russian  pilgrims,  escorted  by 
a  military  cavass  from  Jerusalem  with  soldiers  under 
his  control.  They  came  on  sweetly  singing  as  they 
toiled  over  the  plain,  men  and  women  both  old  and 
young ;  horses,  donkeys,  mules,  mixed  up  in  wild 
confusion  with  the  trudgers  on  foot  and  a  few  soldiers. 
Like  the  Gibeonites  of  old  their  garments  had  become 
ragged  by  reason  of  the  very  long  journey,  their  shoes 
or  sandals  were  also  old  and  clouted  upon  their  feet 
with  bandages  of  every  description,  while  some,  lacking 
even  old  shoes  or  rags  wherewith  to  bandage,  walked 
barefooted  over  the  ground.  Others  trudged  with 
downcast  heads,  their  shoulders  bending  beneath  the 
weight  of  burdens  like  unto  Christian’s  pack,  for  all 
carried  a  pilgrim’s  staff,  and  slung  to  their  back  a 
tin  kettle  or  pot,  and  a  canvas  sack  for  provisions. 
Priests  there  were  among  them  with  unkempt  beards 
and  gowns  green  and  smeared  through  rough  wear,  the 
faces  beneath  their  tall  cylindrical  hats  showing,  for  the 
most  part,  few  of  the  qualities  and  virtues  essential  for 
the  faithful  pasturing  of  such  a  flock  as  this.  Those 
that  were  mounted  on  ass  or  mule  showed  no  considera¬ 
tion  for  the  pedestrians. 

We  halted,  to  one  side,  in  order  to  let  them  stream 
by  without  let  or  hindrance,  to  the  number  of  some  fifteen 
hundred.  There  was  sunshine  in  the  faces  of  most  of 
the  women.  It  was  the  holiday  of  their  lives.  They 


Flowers  of  the  Plains  of  Galilee  253 

seemed  to  be  of  those  who  passing  through  the  valley 
of  weeping  make  out  of  it  a  place  of  springs.  They 
threw  us  smiles  of  greeting  as  though  wishing  us  to 
share  their  joy  ;  and  as  if  moved  by  sudden  impulse 
some  of  them  stepped  up  to  the  carriage  and  thrust 
their  flowers  into  our  hands,  and  upon  our  knees, 
pausing  for  no  acknowledgment  but  hurrying  on  as 
they  threw  further  smiles  of  benediction  over  their 
shoulder  to  the  singing  accompaniment  of  the  word, 
“  Grazia  !  Grazia  !  ” 

It  was  our  first  meeting  with  the  Russian  pilgrims, 
that  familiar  feature  of  Palestine  travel,  the  first  of 
many  and  more  intimate  encounters.  Still  pondering 
over  their  simple  faith,  which  in  spite  of  the  super¬ 
stition,  fanaticism,  and  dense  ignorance  cumbering  it 
is  so  indubitably  quickened  by  the  spark  divine,  we 
approached  the  halting-stage  on  our  journey,  a  pond 
fed  by  a  spring  near  the  ruined  khan  of  Lubieh. 

There  were  peasants  by  the  wayside  here,  squatting 
among  the  stones  on  the  margin  of  the  pool.  While 
the  horses  were  being  watered  these  men  and  women — 
not  at  all  of  a  prepossessing  type — gathered  round  the 
carriage  offering  their  rings,  trinkets,  and  knives  for  sales. 
They  were  still  active  in  barter,  when  two  newcomers 
approached  the  pool — a  dark-browed  Bedawi,  with  the 
thick  black  agal  pressing  a  purple  keffiyeh  on  his  head, 
and  a  woman  who  was  leading  their  horse  to  drink  at 
the  fountain. 

She  was  young  and  beautiful,  also  unveiled,  her 
waved,  abundant  hair  growing  low  over  her  broad  fore- 


254  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

head.  From  the  clear,  sun-bronzed  skin  her  eyes  glowed 
soft  as  stars,  yet  dark  as  water  in  a  deep  well.  Her 
figure  was  tall  and  of  plastic  mould,  draped  and  swathed 
in  a  gown  of  red  and  white  with  loose  pantaloons  skirting 
her  well-shaped  ankles.  She  appeared  indifferent  to  the 
gaze  of  onlookers,  as  she  stood  with  one  hand  touching 
the  horse’s  neck,  the  other  holding  the  halter  by  which 
she  held  him. 

Quickly  sprang  to  view  the  artist’s  note-book,  and 
then  it  was  evident  that  the  beautiful  statue  could  see 
out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  for  she  immediately 
crouched  down  by  the  water’s  edge  in  the  shadow  of  a 
bank  of  stones.  The  Bedawi,  who  was  her  husband,  was 
willing  that  she  should  allow  her  face  to  be  looked  upon 
by  the  stranger,  and  expostulated  in  energetic  voice,  to 
which  the  peasants  around  added  open  wonder  and 
derision  that  so  easy  a  method  of  obtaining  backsheesh 
was  scorned. 

“  If  I  were  her  husband  and  she  did  not  obey  me, 
1  would  shoot  her,”  said  a  hawk-nosed  fellah  emphatically. 

The  beauty  peered  round  at  the  speaker,  then  at  her 
husband,  who  stood  scowling  but  silent  near,  his  old 
flintlock  slung  across  his  shoulder  ;  and  she  laughed  aloud, 
showing  the  perfect  ivory  of  her  teeth. 

cc  He  moved  the  mountains  to  get  me,”  she  said  simply. 

To  this  remark  no  one  could  find  suitable  comment, 
for  the  woman,  as  was  shown  by  her  dress,  was  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  country.  The  horses  were  ready,  and 
we  ascended  a  gentle  slope  that  raised  the  plain  to  a 
slightly  higher  elevation. 


Galilee  :  Flowers  near  Karn  Hattin. 


Flowers  of  the  Plains  of  Galilee  255 

And  suddenly  spread  out  before  us  we  came  upon 
the  most  wonderful  sight  of  its  kind  it  would  be  possible 
to  obtain  anywhere.  All  the  latter  part  of  the  way  the 
flowers  scattered  on  the  fertile  ground  had  been  attract¬ 
ing  our  notice  through  their  beauty  and  colour,  anemones 
of  all  hues,  red  ranunculi,  ox-eyed  daisies,  buttercups, 
pink  campion  and  a  score  of  others.  But  here  all  the 
spring  flowers  of  the  world  seemed  to  have  gathered 
together  on  that  wonderful  tableland — 

Flowers  worthy  of  Paradise — 

flowers  of  all  hues,  outspread  in  immense  meadows, 
flowing  river-like  over  the  plain,  melting  up  and  over 
the  undulations  in  one  vast  gorgeous  iris — blue  and  pink 
borage,  and  tall  campanula,  purple  lupins,  crimson 
anemones,  golden  marguerites,  pink  campion,  white  daisies 
of  giant  growth,  the  pale  yellow  primrose  of  Palestine, 
all  mingling  together  in  riotous  colour,  or  in  separate 
lake-like  sheets  of  a  single  colour.  And  every  colour 
was  repeated  in  lighter  and  deeper  tints. 

At  once  it  was  easy  to  perceive  or  comprehend  how 
the  wonderful  patterns  for  the  products  of  Oriental 
looms  have  originated,  how  from  Nature’s  enamelling  of 
the  plains  was  born  the  innate  taste  that  pieces  together 
their  beautiful  mosaics,  and  creates  even  the  picturesque 
and  daring  combinations  of  colour  seen  in  the  varied 
types  of  native  costume.  Never  without  the  evidence 
of  my  own  eyesight  could  I  have  imagined  such 
luxuriant  lustre  of  colour  and  beauty  of  form.  In  the 
picture  that  portrays  these  spring  flowers  of  Galilee,  with 


256  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

the  foreground  of  blue  borage,  the  shadows  of  blue-greys 
and  purples  on  the  distant  hills  must  not  be  mistaken 
for  cloud-shadows.  They  are  but  a  distant  effect  of  the 
same  pageant  of  nature  as  lay  at  the  artist’s  feet,  and 
like  the  shadows  of  clouds  rolled  over  the  hills  and 
far  away. 

As  we  passed  in  rapt  amazement  through  these 
flowery,  fragrant  meads,  I  saw  more  than  once  a  long- 
legged  stork  standing  as  though  deeply  meditating,  its 
white  plumage,  with  the  black  feathers  and  the  bright 
yellow  bill,  toning  in  with  the  flowers  around.  It  was 
interesting  to  bring  to  mind  that  these  birds,  forming 
a  contrast  to  the  historic  plain  upon  which  they  meditated, 
were  looked  upon  as  emblems  of  the  Christian  in  the 
early  ages  of  the  Church.  And  just  here  on  this  self¬ 
same  plain  did  General  Junot  of  Napoleonic  fame,  in 
making  a  reconnaissance  of  the  plain  of  Lubieh,  fall 
into  a  vast  gathering  of  the  enemies,  which  had  crossed 
the  Jordan  to  this  ideal  camping  ground  for  the  floating 
population,  of  which  the  Turkish  forces  seemed  in  those 
days  to  consist. 

On  the  route  we  had  just  traversed  the  French 
dragoons  had  advanced  under  Junot  and  Duvivier. 
Taken  so  much  by  surprise  that  they  could  almost 
distinguish  the  faces  of  the  enemy  who  were  advancing 
at  walking  pace  with  their  motley  array  of  big  and 
small  banners,  their  caracoling  horses,  their  fanfare  of 
bizarre  music,  the  dragoons  were  for  the  moment  thrown 
into  confusion. 

£‘  Mes  amis  !  Droit  aux  yeux  !  ”  shouted  their 


Flowers  of  the  Plains  of  Galilee  257 

general,  pointing  his  long  sword  toward  the  enemy. 
The  crisis  was  staved,  and  what  might  have  been  a  rout 
for  the  French  was  turned  into  a  masterly  retreat,  and 
for  the  Turks,  instead  of  victory,  general  discomfiture. 

To  the  left,  beyond  the  exquisite  mosaic  of  the  plain, 
rose  a  low,  curious-shaped  hill,  having  two  conical 
peaks  united  by  a  ridge.  Right  to  the  summit  extended 
the  blue  tapestry  of  lupin  and  borage  blossom.  The 
size  of  the  hill  was  insignificant,  but  the  position  made 
the  peaks  conspicuous  and  at  once  recognisable  as  the 
famous  Karn  or  Horns  of  Hattin. 

Their  historical  fame  dates  from  the  time  of  the 
second  Crusade,  for  it  was  on  that  broad,  sweeping  plain 
before  them  that  the  battle  of  Hattin  was  fought 
between  the  Franks  and  the  Saracens,  the  battle  that 
practically  decided  under  which  influence  Palestine  should 
eventually  fall,  that  of  Islam  or  Christendom.  Because, 
it  was  after  this  celebrated  victory  near  Tiberias  that 
Jerusalem  surrendered  to  Salah-ed-Din,  and  his  became 
the  paramount  power  in  Syria.  Through  the  military 
genius  of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  in  the  third  Crusade, 
Salah-ed-Din  was  forced  into  making  a  truce  in  which 
the  sea  border  from  Jaffa  to  Akka  (St.  jean  d’Acre) 
was  conceded  to  the  Christians,  but  Jerusalem  itself,  the 
desired  Holy  City,  only  came  back  to  them  for  a  mere 
decade  in  the  fifth  Crusade,  so  that  the  permanent 
ascendency  of  Moslem  rule  in  the  land  appears  to  have 
set  in  with  emphasis  from  the  date  of  the  battle  of 
Hattin  in  1187. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  July,  when  all  the  magic 

33 


VOL.  I 


258  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

garment,  clothing  the  surface  of  the  plain  in  spring, 
would  long  have  been  burnt  up  by  a  blazing  sun,  when 
the  softly  verdant  and  flower-carpeted  hills  dipping 
over  the  ridge  down  to  the  Lake  of  Galilee  would  have 
been  as  walls  of  brass  radiating  the  heat  of  a  furnace 
at  their  base.  For  two  long  days  the  conflict  raged 
until  the  hard-pressed  Franks  seem  to  have  taken 
up  their  position  on  the  Horns  of  Hattin,  thrust  up 
the  hill  on  every  side  by  the  energy  and  persistency 
of  the  enemy. 

Hidden  from  the  point  of  view  where  we  stood 
reflecting  on  the  historical  data  connected  with  this  little 
hill  was  a  village  of  the  same  name  at  its  northern  base. 
Who  can  tell  whether  this  village  was  in  existence  at 
that  distant  date  ?  It  is  probable,  however,  as  the 
excellent  spring  it  contains  must  even  then  have  been 
yielding  its  limpid  flow,  and  where  there  are  springs  in 
thirsty  Palestine  the  dwellings  of  man  are  generally  around 
or  near  them.  This  vicinage  of  good  water  may  appear 
at  first  sight  to  make  the  reason  given  by  crusading 
chroniclers — namely,  total  lack  of  water  beneath  the 
blaze  of  summer  heat  and  burden  of  battle — for  the 
defeat,  a  reflection  on  the  military  tactics  of  the  Franks 
compared  with  those  of  the  Saracens  under  the  astute 
generalship  of  Salah-ed-Din.  As  severe  drought  ensuing 
upon  scarcity  of  the  necessary  winter  rains  affects  the 
sources  of  even  copious  springs  to-day,  may  it  not  be 
possible  that  in  those  July  days  of  the  year  1187  the 
fountain  at  the  base  of  Karn  Hattin  was  temporarily 
exhausted  through  a  similar  cause  ? 


Flowers  of  the  Plains  of  Galilee  259 

To  the  Crusaders  is  also  given  credit  for  establishing 
the  tradition  that,  from  the  Horns  of  Hattin,  Christ 
addressed  the  multitude  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
a  tradition  that  has  won  so  strong  a  credence  that  to  this 
day  the  hill  is  called  the  Mount  of  the  Beatitudes. 

Surely  a  more  appropriate  and  ideal  setting  could 
not  be  imagined,  though  the  actual  eye  of  man  may 
have  selected  another  site  more  exact  in  the  locality 
suited  to  the  circumstances  of  the  scriptural  narrative. 
There  was  the  “  city  set  on  a  hill,”  Safed,  the  highest 
town  in  Northern  Galilee,  high  and  white,  looking  up 
on  the  range  of  hills  which  commands  a  view  of  the 
whole  southern  panorama  of  the  plains,  Mount  Tabor  in 
the  far  distance,  and  Karn  Hattin  enthroned  on  flowers, 
unto  which  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory — the  acme  of 
everything  that  was  most  magnificent  and  highly  coloured 
in  the  minds  of  the  people — could  not  be  compared  in 
wonder  of  beauty  and  hue.  There  was  also  the  emerald 
grass  of  the  far-sweeping,  undulating  plain,  so  slight  of 
growth,  so  ephemeral  of  existence,  that  no  sooner  did  the 
sun  rise  in  power  than  it  withered  this  product  of  the  spring 
which  “  to-day  is,  and  to-morrow  is  cast  into  the  oven.” 

We  turned  our  gaze  from  the  spot  which  had  held 
imagination  fixed  ;  to  the  right  was  a  brightly  verdant 
stretch  of  the  wheat  that  gives  life,  and  hovering  in 
air  a  golden  butterfly,  the  symbol  of  the  life  immortal. 
Yonder  against  a  distant  blue  range  swept  a  strong  fore¬ 
ground  line  of  green.  Bordering  the  track  and  rising 
among  the  flowers  close  at  hand  were  large  stones,  grey, 
and  tinged  in  streaks  and  patches  with  bright  orange. 


2  6o 


Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

Very  soon  we  came  to  the  brow  of  the  hill  that 
looked  down  upon  Tiberias.  Below,  blue  and  tranquil 
as  an  Alpine  lake,  yet  with  a  remote  beauty  and  unique 
distinction  peculiarly  its  own,  lay  the  Sea  of  Galilee. 

The  hills  swept  down  on  either  side  in  broad  sloping 
banks.  In  the  wide  hollow  opened  out  at  the  base 
touching  the  water  margin  stretched  the  little  town  of 
Tiberias,  enclosed  in  ancient  walls  which  curved  crescent- 
shape  with  the  configuration  of  the  shore,  the  horns 
outward.  As  we  descended  the  hill  by  the  steep,  winding 
road,  we  seemed  to  be  approaching  the  field  of  the 
cloth  of  gold.  The  sloping  plain  spreading  out  before 
the  town  was  gilded  with  masses  of  the  yellow  blossom 
of  wild  mustard.  They  made  a  brilliant  carpet  in  front  of 
the  deep  purple  ramparts,  and  extended  in  great  parterres, 
running  rivulets  of  living  gold  over  the  whole  depression. 
Dark,  velvety  fleeced  goats,  cattle,  and  a  few  bright- 
garbed  natives  moved  about  in  them. 

Now  I  was  near  enough  to  see  that  the  northern 
peak  of  the  wall  was  castellated,  and  the  ramparts  irregular, 
because  partly  in  ruins  ;  it  descended  by  gradients  to 
the  low  depression  of  the  plain  where  there  came  a  gap 
in  the  barrier  disclosing  the  grey  and  white  roof  of  a 
flat,  cube-shaped  house.  In  a  picturesque  group  above 
the  wall  clustered  a  slender  minaret,  the  glittering  white 
dome  of  a  mosque,  a  tall  palm-tree,  and  a  smaller  one 
below  it.  Over  a  tumble-down  ancient  tower  which 
flanked  the  archway  in  front  of  the  group  rose  the 
star-like,  thickly  plumed  crest  of  another  palm.  Further 
to  the  right  a  ruined  building,  built  into  the  wall,  dark 


Within  the  Walls  of  Tiberius, 


'  : 


Flowers  of  the  Plains  of  Galilee  261 


grey  and  severe,  showed  the  pale  water  of  the  lake 
gleaming  through  the  empty  sockets  of  its  window 
apertures.  Then  the  rampart  ran  on  without  a  break 
as  far  as  the  remnants  of  a  tower,  standing  cone-shaped 
against  the  sea.  The  southern  peak  of  the  crescent 
revealed  clustered  houses  within  the  town,  for  there 
the  wall  was  in  low  massed  ruins  showing  one  tower 
at  the  extremity. 

Backward  from  this  tower  the  land  ascended  in  a 
low,  long  slope  as  far  as  the  ridge  of  the  hill  which 
rose  immediately  behind  the  town.  The  green  of  its 
surface  was  of  a  curious  soft  hue,  similar  to  the  green 
of  the  poplar,  and  with  the  same  shimmery  effect, 
enhanced  by  contrast  with  deep  purple  lava-stones  and 
the  variety  of  low  scrub  and  thistle.  Behind  this  deep- 
bosomed  slope,  looking  south,  rose  a  high  hill  of  imposing 
basaltic  formation,  upon  which  there  were  great  velvety 
curves  and  hollows,  their  edges  yellow  with  the  mustard 
flower  which  seemed  to  decorate  them  with  festooned 
ribbons  of  gold. 

The  town  was  deeply  shadowed  by  clouds  in  strong 
contrast  to  the  brilliant  sunlight  throwing  its  dazzling 
almost  blinding  effect  on  the  yellow-blossoming  waste 
land.  The  walls  stood  out  purple-black  against  a  slate- 
grey  sea,  and  the  steep  mountain- wall  rising  from  the 
further  side  of  the  lake.  Through  the  deep  inscrutable 
grey  of  the  water  stretched  one  silver  streak  just  below 
the  precipitous  eastern  barrier. 

Close  to  the  town  we  passed  some  acres  of  ploughed 
land,  the  rich  red  soil  testifying  to  the  fertility  of  the 


262  Under  the  Syrian  Sun 

district.  We  entered  the  ancient  city  through  the  broken 
archway  ;  to  our  right  were  the  minaret  and  mosque, 
to  the  left,  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  ruined  castle  on 
sloping  ground,  stood  the  little  hotel  of  one  story,  a 
small  balcony  running  along  the  front  and  the  entrance 
in  the  centre. 

We  took  up  our  quarters  in  the  Franciscan  monastery, 
for  which  we  had  received  a  card  of  introduction  from 
Jerusalem.  To  get  to  it  we  crossed  the  open  space 
swarming  with  Arabs  and  Jews,  and  wended  our  way 
through  a  few  dirty  lanes  to  the  big  portal  in  the 
enclosing  wall.  Within  were  a  large  paved  court  and 
a  few  flower-beds  ;  the  Church  of  St.  Peter  was  to  the 
right,  and  straight  in  front,  across  the  court,  a  stone 
terrace  upon  which  opened  the  big  dining-room  for 
visitors  and  pilgrims.  In  the  long  stone  corridor  on 
the  story  above  we  were  given  a  room  with  a  window 
which,  though  iron-barred,  looked  out  upon  the  lake. 


END  OF  VOL.  I 


Letterpress  printed  by  Hazelly  IVatson  <5*  Viney ,  Ld.,  London  and  Aylesbury. 
Coloured  plates  by  A.  C.  Foivler,  Moorfields ,  London. 


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DS107.3  .136  v.l 

Under  the  Syrian  sun;  the  Lebanon, 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


1  1012  00069  1693 


